


Glorfindel's Rivendel Reveries

by Wynja2007



Series: Glorfindel's Yuletides [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Battle Scars, Do Not Try This At Home No Seriously Don't..., Inappropriate use of Honey Beer, Long Engagements, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Night of the Names, The Importance of Good Towels, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3105152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Wynja2007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the War of the Ring, Glorfindel finds he is not looking forward to Yuletide, Imladris-style...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Quarrel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/gifts).



> Set TA 3019, beginning four or five weeks before Yuletide.

Elrond pressed his fingers to his temples as he surveyed the scene before him.

Summoned to the sound of an altercation in the corridor where his seneschal had rooms, he had been alarmed, on arrival, to find Glorfindel and the newly-appointed housekeeper Laindis facing each other and Erestor between them, trying to keep the peace.

‘What in the name of all the Valar is going on here?’ Elrond demanded.

‘I was but doing my job, my lord…’

‘Doing your job?’ Glorfindel was almost incandescent with rage. ‘What part of doing your job involves stealing from my cupboards…?’

‘Stealing! Lord Elrond, I was only…’

‘Peace!’ Elrond said wearily. ‘Erestor, don’t let me keep you… I am sure you have other work today?’

‘My lord.’ Erestor nodded, pausing to place a friendly hand on the Balrog-slayer’s shoulder as he passed. ‘Let me know if there is anything I can do to help, mellon-nin.’

Elrond raised his eyebrows at this sign that his advisor sided with the Balrog-slayer in this particular quarrel, but forbore to comment, merely signalling the housekeeper to shut the door before glancing at the two combatants again. Laindis had two red spots of colour in her cheeks, her ear tips pink with indignation at the accusation of theft. Glorfindel… 

Well, Elrond had known the Balrog-slayer through many ages, had seen him furious and dangerous before, but never quite like this; the seneschal was shaking with rage, clutching a discoloured, tattered cloth close to his chest as if his life depended on it, but most alarming, to Elrond’s eyes, was the threat of tears and the look of dread, of loss in Glorfindel’s face.

‘Very well. Glorfindel, I will hear what Laindis has to say first. Then, and only then, I will listen to your side of the tale. Understand?’

Glorfindel nodded, unwilling – or unable – to speak.

‘So. Mistress Laindis?’

‘It is the pre-Yuletide cleaning of Imladris, my lord. One of my duties is to inspect the linens and replace any that are worn or old, and my lord Glorfindel saw me sorting through his towels and took exception to the fact that I wanted to throw away that old rag he is holding… for which I am, if you please, an intruder, a thief, a…’

Glorfindel crumpled and began to weep, huge wracking sobs most unbecoming in a warrior and a hero. Elrond raised a hand.

‘Thank you, Laindis. There has been a misunderstanding, quite clearly. You may go. But take it as read that Lord Glorfindel will sort his own linens, on request, in the future. Let me show you out.’ He gestured towards the door and walked her out into the hallway, lowering his voice. ‘We will talk later. Lord Glorfindel is plainly not well. You know he is prone to episodes of melancholy, still…’

‘Well… I am very sorry if the lord is ill, but…’

‘Later, Laindis. Good day to you now.’

 

The Balrog-slayer was still clutching the rag to his chest and his shoulders heaved with sobs. Elrond rolled his eyes and set his mouth in an expression of exasperation before shutting the door, rearranging his features into something rather more sympathetic before approaching his seneschal.

By rights, Glorfindel should have been an absurd sight, weeping over a dirty bit of cloth, but Elrond knew far more about the Balrog-slayer’s past than was comfortable and so, instead, saw only a lost and pitiable soul in need of understanding and support.

‘Sit down, mellon-nin, and tell me about it,’ he said, finding the spirits bottle and pouring a good measure into a glass for his friend. ‘I do not like to see you in such straits…’

‘Elrond… will you… please… tell your staff… all of them…leave… my things… alone…’ Glorfindel said between gasps and gulps of air. ‘Eru knows… I don’t have much…’

‘No, that’s true. You’re not acquisitive. And you’re not generally unkind to the servants, so what’s brought this on, my friend? What is this… item that is so important to you?’

Glorfindel sighed and sat down, taking a mouthful of spirits, still holding on to his precious cloth.

‘A Yule gift someone made for me decades, no… no more… centuries ago now…’ 

Glorfindel spread the cloth out on his lap, staring at it with glistening eyes. With his forefinger he traced what might have been a design near one edge; it was difficult for Elrond to be sure since the whole thing was such an unprepossessing shade of dirty grey…

‘It was so vibrant, new, the colour. He learned how to dye it, just so he could make me this, the right colour – ‘too-blue’, he called it… then he learned from his commander’s sister how to stitch, and sewed little yellow flowers on the border… so sweet of him… there were two, and when I rode out, I left one with him, took one away… I came back, we swapped... And each Yule that we managed to meet, every few years, he gave me new ones. This is the only one I have left now.’

‘What happened, Glorfindel?’

The seneschal heaved a huge sigh.

‘Oh, everything… dwarves, a dragon, ruin, more dwarves, the dragon again… he got a promotion the same year we had to increase the watch on the valley… it became impossible to get even a messenger hawk through safely… we lost sight of each other, they withdrew behind their borders… time passed… the business of the Ring…’ Glorfindel shrugged and looked up to meet his lord’s eyes, his own gaze sparkling with the diamonds of unshed tears, still. ‘He saved me, Elrond. I thought I was helping him, at first, but then… suddenly, it was all changed, and I was… renewed, somehow.’

‘Well, the roads are restored, the skies are clear. Why do you not write to him, seek news of him?’

Glorfindel shook his head.

‘I cannot.’

‘But if you parted friends, why not?’

‘He may be dead, Elrond. That is why.’

‘Are you afraid of bad news?’

‘He is Silvan, a warrior of Mirkwood. By their traditions, if he is dead, I can’t name him… so how can I ask after him…? And what if he is dead?’

‘Surely it would be better to know?’

Glorfindel dropped his gaze to the towels and shook his head. Elrond tried a different tack.

‘Well, tell me more about this friend, anyway. It may comfort you to speak of him.’

‘He was… after that business with the three dragons, when I went back to Mirkwood. He was in the Court Guard. He had the most beautiful fëa…’

‘Just his fëa?’ Elrond asked, risking a smile.

Glorfindel managed to smile back.

‘Oh, you know how it is! If you meet one of these lovely souls, all of them is beautiful, it shines through, it changes everything about them. He could have been ugly as an orc and you’d never notice, not with a fëa like that… but… I think he was most wonderfully fair.’

‘He was in the Court Guard? Thranduil’s elite?’

‘Yes, appointed on the way back. And later in the Dragon Guard; he did well for himself, once he found his confidence.’

Elrond topped up Glorfindel’s glass and, even though it was only early afternoon, poured himself one, also.

‘Tell me more,’ he said. ‘Even if you can’t name him. It might help you feel better, old friend.’

‘Honey beer,’ Glorfindel said. ‘He liked the honey beer they brew in the palace, so that’s what I’ll call him, so I don’t have to use his name… Actually, it was one of the things he called me… it should sound silly but, Elrond, it really, really wasn’t…’


	2. Intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel reluctantly returns to Rivendell in time for a Yuletide Eve he is not looking forward to...

It was only because his entire patrol threatened mutiny that Glorfindel reluctantly turned for home. His troop had been making the rounds of the valley, and all had been quiet, but Glorfindel had planned on riding to the northern limits and camping there before heading back next day.

‘But today is Yuletide Eve,’ first one, and then another of the knights had protested. ‘Lord Elrond expects you at his board, even if we will not be missed.’

‘No… Elrond only expects us at his board so he knows we’re not drinking in the taverns…’

‘But, my lord, there will be fine wine and warmth and song…’

And, since even Asfaloth seemed keen to turn for home, although that was the last place Glorfindel wanted to be today, around celebrations and amongst revellers – even the stately revelry of Imladris – he knew it was unkind of him to forbid the other warriors such comforts, and so he sighed and allowed them to head back.

Around him the voices of his knights rose and grew more joyful in tone as they approached the Last Homely House and as the short day began to fade his own mood plummeted further. He’d lived through many ages of Yuletide, seen them celebrated and ignored, seen good ones and bad ones pass, but the one that was looming was not one to which he was looking forward.

Glorfindel’s best Yuletide ever had been spent in the company of a warrior of Mirkwood (the same who had gifted him the towel which Laindis had tried to steal just weeks previously). No Yule since had ever compared favourably with that, and this one, with the recent reminder of his long-lost friend of the beautiful fëa still sharp as knives in his heart, was doomed before it began, a time of dread worse than any battle the Balrog-slayer had ever fought.

By the time they were in sight of Rivendell, the daylight had almost gone and the lights shone out bright and gold, eliciting a chorus of song from his companions. 

Glorfindel sank further into his gloom. Tonight, he was going to ask for a tray in his rooms, and if that wasn’t forthcoming, he’d go hungry…

Finally they reached the stables as a thick, sleety rain began to fall. The seneschal dismissed the rest of the knights and took Asfaloth into his stall to unsaddle the horse and rub him down, lingering over the task as long as he could.

‘Lord Glorfindel?’ Laindis, the housekeeper stood outside, looking hesitant; the stables were not her normal territory and she had never really been at ease with Glorfindel since the quarrel about his belongings. Now she looked more uncomfortable than ever. ‘My lord Elrond has asked that I tell you…’

‘Tray in my room tonight, Mistress Laindis,’ Glorfindel said, giving Asfaloth a final pat and closing the stable door before brushing past her. ‘Tell Elrond I’m not fit company for the Great Hall this evening.’

‘But… he says… you have a…’

But he pushed past her, towel-thief that she was, and stalked into the house.

He stomped up the back stairs that led to his chambers and shoved his way in, dropping his saddle bags and cloak on the floor and pausing to pull off his boots.

It was then that he noticed the door to the bathing chamber was open and there were noises coming from within.

But this was an outrage! Not only had his room been plundered, in recent weeks, by the housekeeper, but now somebody was making free of his bathing pool…

Determined to give whoever it was a scare, even if they had some vague right to be in there, he drew his sword and approached the doorway.

‘Who’s there?’ he demanded. ‘Come out and show yourself or I’ll…’

‘Glorfindel? You are here already? You are home?’

He knew that voice.

Stunned, the Balrog-slayer dropped his sword onto the floor with a clatter as someone emerged from the bathing room… someone only loosely clad in a towel, someone Glorfindel had thought never to see again.

He knew that face, that wonderful head of dark-flame hair.

‘Triwathon?’ he whispered.

‘Yes, indeed… did Elrond not tell you? He said he would send the housekeeper to speak with you as soon as you got back… meanwhile, he said to make myself at home… he seemed more accepting of our arrangement than I expected… but is this too much at home, Honey Beer, iphant-nin, hir-nin?’

Glorfindel shook his head and then launched himself at his visitor, swamping him in a hug that lifted Triwathon off his feet and had him laughing even as he hugged back, even as Glorfindel squeezed him so tightly his breath was restricted.

‘Can’t breathe, Laurefindil, can’t…’

Glorfindel relaxed his iron grip and began to smother Triwathon’s neck and throat with kisses. The almost-naked elf threw his head back with a sigh and pushed his fingers through Glorfindel’s tangled golden mane, swallowing under Glorfindel’s tongue.

‘So… you missed me then?’ 

‘Oh, your beautiful, beautiful fëa…! I…’

Triwathon caught Glorfindel’s face between his hands so that he could look into his eyes. He smiled.

‘Too blue, those eyes. Always, too blue to believe. Look at you… Will you bathe with me? I know you’ve been on patrol for the last five days, you’ll be glad of hot water…’

‘I’m more glad of you, Triwathon… I didn’t know… couldn’t find out…’

Triwathon kissed him softly on the lips, a friendly kiss with the offer of more, later, lingering in it.

‘We’ll talk soon. I want to see you, to wash you, to hold you.’

‘That sounds exactly what I need…’

Long fingers left Glorfindel’s face and worked at the openings of his tunic, untied his lacings, pulling the garments away to uncover the Balrog-slayer’s skin, pink-welted from fire, white-scored from scars, soft peach skin holding all together. Finally unclothed, Glorfindel followed his surprise visitor into the bathing room where he grabbed Triwathon’s towel.

‘One of mine, again!’ Triwathon said with a grin. ‘I remember you had a thing about stealing my towels and making them yours... even after I gave you some for your very own…’

‘Oh, Triwathon…’ Glorfindel put his arms around his friend and held him tight. Triwathon returned the embrace. ‘How have you been, how are you, really?’

Triwathon smiled and disengaged, tugging at the Balrog-slayer’s hand and encouraging him to descend into the pool’s hot spring water.

‘I am well, really. But you, Glorfindel? You look weary… I am surprised to find you here, still, I heard – we kept hearing… so many from Rivendell have sailed…’

‘Not me.’ Glorfindel shook his head as he allowed his hungry hands to graze over his dear friend’s back. ‘Too much to do here, all the clearing up… Triwathon? What’s this?’

The Balrog-slayer pulled back to look into Triwathon’s face, his fingers exploring a shoulder blade, the touch no longer loving but interrogatory, anxious, and he turned the warrior round so that he could see. 

Triwathon’s shoulders lifted in a shrug.

‘A scar, Glorfindel, it is a scar… there was a thing, we called it the Battle of the Five Armies… we were not meant to be involved, my king had withdrawn into his boundaries but… it became more than just somebody else’s fight and I was injured then.’

‘An orc axe?’

‘Yes, it was a warg rider… was lucky I had comrades around me or the second blow would have killed me. One attacked the warg, the other shot the orc, so I heard later. The axe split the bone, I was a long time healing…’ Triwathon sighed as he felt himself turned, Glorfindel’s eyes looking now for other injuries. ‘My dear friend, I fully intended telling you the tale of all my injuries, but I had hoped we would be lying in your bed, first…’

‘All? All your injuries? Who hurt you, did they die? Did they die horribly enough…?’

‘Glorfindel…’

‘When were you hurt?’ The Balrog-slayer’s hands and eyes were more urgent now, his voice panicked. ‘What else happened?’

‘Laurefindil!’ Triwathon hit the water with his hands, causing a splash that momentarily halted Glorfindel’s examination. ‘I am fine. I am here, and I am well, now, of my hurts. Please, give me a moment just to look at you… once we are done with washing, I’ll tell you all.’

‘Sorry. I am sorry, beautiful. But I have been so afraid that you were dead or that you’d been hurt and I have felt so helpless, here, trammelled in by the valley… well, not always, but when not by the valley then by Elrond, by duty…’

Glorfindel fell silent as Triwathon silked soap over his shoulders and arms, washing away the dirt of the Balrog-slayer’s travels with gentle hands. He sighed, relaxing under the ministrations.

‘There. Clean, unless you want to wash your hair…’

For answer, Glorfindel submerged himself beneath the surface of the pool and shook his head.

‘There, done. Come on, I need to know!’ Glorfindel took Triwathon’s hand and tugged him towards the steps out of the pool. ‘You look thin, now I think about it.’

Triwathon wrapped himself in a towel and patted at Glorfindel’s wet hair with another.

‘I am still getting back to fitness, if you please! I am toned and my body is hard from riding through the wilds for ten days on short commons. But that is all.’

‘Well, bits of my body are hard, too…’

Triwathon laughed.

‘And I thought you wanted me to do some storytelling first?’

‘Could we combine it with a Triwathon Cuddle? I have so missed your cuddling…’

‘Of course. But you won’t be able to see my scars while I’m telling you.’

‘Then I’d better see, first. My eyes are hungry for you, anyway.’

Triwathon finished drying himself and glanced over his shoulder at Glorfindel, walking towards the window. Placing his back to it, he spread his arms wide to open the towel and allow the Balrog-slayer full view of the front of his body. The gaze of those too-blue eyes was almost palpable, and Triwathon lifted his chin and swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable.

‘And what do you see, Laurefindil?’ he asked.

‘I see the most beautiful fëa I have ever been privileged to meet… I see it has been honed and refined by suffering and pain, I see it is still sweet, and kind, and generous… there is a long, raking scar on your left thigh, knee to hip, almost…’

‘A skirmish with an orc-pack. We were almost overrun… pack after pack came after us, not just passing through the forest, but actively hunting us… I lost a comrade that day, and we laid her to rest under one of the beech trees that she loved… I’ll tell you about her tomorrow, perhaps.’

‘Of course, it’s the Night of the Names, isn’t it? I’ve a few names of my own to share tomorrow.’

Triwathon’s smile was sad.

‘More than a few for me… and I must spend some of the evening with my escort. But for now, I am yours… there is just one trophy more to show you…’

Bare feet padding softly on the polished wood of Glorfindel’s floor, Triwathon crossed to the bed and lay down on his back, aware again of the hyperblue scrutiny. He interlaced his fingers behind his head, the motion raising his chest and lifting his ribcage, exposing his sides to view.  
It said much for Glorfindel’s emotional attachment to Triwathon that his gaze was focussed entirely on the marks of war on the lean body spread before him. The Balrog-slayer’s expression changed, grew dismayed and he hurried to kneel at the bed so that he could see more clearly the round puncture wound in Triwathon’s side.

‘How in the name of all the Valar did you survive that one?’ he demanded, concern making him sound rough and harsh.

Triwathon freed a hand to drop it on Glorfindel’s golden hair and tangle in the still-damp strands.

‘I do not know. I was a very long time healing. The lance that impaled me was on fire at the time, and one suggestion is that it cauterised the blood vessels even as it broke them. But it left a big hole in my side, and if you would like that cuddle now, I would find it easier to tell you the tale of these old injuries if my arms were full of you.’

‘So when I hugged you…’

‘It was a very lovely hug. Bit tight, perhaps.’ Triwathon patted the side of the bed next to him. ‘Come, iphant-nin. Let me wrap myself around your old bones and feel it is good to be alive again.’


	3. Triwathon's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Triwathon tells Glorfindel the story of his injury...

Triwathon waited for Glorfindel to get comfortable before pressing his chest against the Balrog-slayer’s back. He slid one arm under the strong neck, golden hair making soft waves against his face until with his free hand he tucked the wayward tresses behind the elegant ear and out of the way. His thighs pressed against Glorfindel’s legs, his body spooning around him, and his upper arm finally settled around his waist. 

Glorfindel snuggled back against him, wriggling enticingly and with a contented exhalation of delight. Triwathon raised himself and leaned forward to kiss the ear tip so near him, felt a shiver pass through his armful of Balrog-slayer.

‘Now, if you do that, I won’t be interested in the stories…’

‘I can defer my tale.’

‘Better not. I think it needs telling so that I can comfort you. Or you me, maybe.’

‘Well, I do not really know where to begin… if I tell the tale of my shoulder injury, then I must give you a history lesson, first…’

‘Skip that one, then. Tell me about the big, bad one, the one that nearly killed you…’

‘That was a hard fight! In truth, it was severe, our forest was attacked multiple times. It is known as the Battle Under the Trees… Orcs out of Dol Guldur, burning as they went… our forces were thus divided between saving those non-combatants who were living out in the forest, protecting the trees, and fighting the orcs. Many warriors died, but our king rallied us. Three times we repelled the enemy, and we were triumphant. But much loss of life, both of tree and Silvan and woodland creature…’ Triwathon paused. ‘I need to take a moment, to remember that we won, before I pass on to my own part in the battle. I was in the Dragon Guard, still, acting commander, in fact, and guarding the king himself. It was not an easy task, our king is reckless and fearless and magnificent in war, but he forgets himself and is all for attack, not thinking of his own safety.’

He smiled against Glorfindel’s neck and his arms tightened around him for a moment as if seeking reassurance the Balrog-slayer was really there.

‘Three of us kept up with him, myself and two others, Thiriston and Canadion… Between us, we guarded the king and each other and then we were in the thick of it, and I do not even remember… Screams, that is all I recollect, screams from above me as the tree burned and all around and then the pain, a single point of it, lancing into my body, burning straight to my fëa and all went silent, and there was a light… the pain dropped away in the wonder of the brightness and a figure walked out of it… he was amazingly beautiful and terrible and he had a stare that would melt the flesh from your bones and his voice was so exquisitely dreadful you could not help but listen and could not bear to hear it…’

‘And he was clothed in the light, but it seemed to spill out of him, yet you would swear he was darkness…’ Glorfindel said softly.

‘You have seen him too? Silly of me, of course you have. He pointed… well, he circled a long finger that was tipped with a nail like a talon and his eyes bore into me and he tipped his head to look at me. It was like the wisest raven in all the world was staring at me. “Choose, dear soul,” he said. “Live, and there is pain in your future, for that was a poisoned spear and the venom was seared into you as the fire burned its way in. Or come back with me to the silence, to the peace.” I knew him then, and I bowed… tried to… my fëa, perhaps, bowed… for he smiled and waved. I… there was a lot of pain, and although I couldn’t feel it, I knew it was waiting for me… I could see my body now, could see Thiriston shaking me and Canadion weeping – for me! – and I knew if I went with this wonderful being, all the pain would drop away… and then I imagined introducing myself to your Lord of the Fountains as your sometime lover without you there… and suddenly I began to fight my way back into my body again.’

Glorfindel laughed, but there were too many tears in his voice and Triwathon held him close for a few moments.

‘The healers were very good. So many injured, terribly burned, and they helped us all. Our king helped us all, he came and sat with each of us and spoke… I do not remember it, but I was told so.’

‘But… did not your healers have things to prevent the burns? I remember, when I was with you…’

‘Yes, the silk used by the queen spiders to wrap their eggs in, we harvest it, when we can. But we’d been fighting a long time, there were few to spare for such a task and there was not much of it to go around. And such as there was… it was more use on burns than on wounds. I fought to live, and welcomed the pain I had been promised, for it meant I was still alive… but I did not know what day it was, or what month, or where I might be… the battle was joined on the fifteenth of March in the common reckoning. I was a long time healing, and while I healed, I dreamed… he was back again, the fierce lord of brightness and shadow, whispering that I could still come with him, still avoid the pain… but again I declined. I woke up – really woke, to ask what was happening – and found it was September, and I was in the far south of Mirkwood in a Galadhrim camp with other badly injured warriors, being tended mostly by strangers and with but one or two of our own healers amongst them.’

‘It’s a poor excuse for not writing to me!’ Glorfindel said in mock-anger.

‘Oh, my love!’ Triwathon pulled his arm out from under the Balrog-slayer’s neck and slid across his body, forcing him onto his back and lying over him to look down into his beautiful too-blue eyes. ‘And what about you, not-writing to me?’

‘Elrond could never spare a hawk, not just for private correspondence, he said. And sending a messenger over the mountains…’

‘…or through the forest with all the orc incursions and the spiders, my commander said it…’

‘…wasn’t possible. Elrond wouldn’t let me ride out! We heard all about your dragon arriving, and he told me I was needed here to protect the family… Anyway. Didn’t know how to write and not use your name. didn’t want… couldn’t bear to think of you as dead…’

‘Well, I understood. I knew Elrond wasn’t entirely sympathetic to people like us. And, really, I preferred to think of you here, safe. I could get on with my job, then. But it got harder. If I was going to die, I wanted to have seen you again first.’

‘You’re not suggesting you came all this way just to breathe your last in my arms I hope?’ Glorfindel said lightly, pressing his lips gently to Triwathon’s, making him smile. ‘You don’t seem that frail…?’

‘No. Not now. When I woke… they told me about the injury, the poison, the flames…’

Glorfindel wriggled his hips under Triwathon, making him aware that he was paying attention, and that parts of his anatomy were paying more attention than others.

‘So in September you had just refused Lord Námo’s repeated invitation to join him in the Halls of Mandos… and yet here you are, just a few months later…’

‘It was late September when I woke and I still had healing to do; in fact, the last of us wounded did not get home until late November. Arveldir came to see me. Things had changed, he told me; the boundaries had been redrawn and both the king and our prince were away… diplomatic missions to do with the political changes, he said. He had heard that both you and Erestor had survived the war. But he said there were also stories of many elves from Imladris sailing… even so, we decided, he and I, that we would not give up hope, me of you or he of Erestor, until there was no hope left.’

Triwathon smiled down into Glorfindel’s face.

‘I cannot begin to describe my relief when the messenger hawk arrived three weeks ago…’

‘Messenger hawk? I did not dare send word; I was afraid… in case using your name… in case you were… or in case you had… had outgrown me…’

‘Nonsense! To think one could outgrow you…. One might as well say King Thranduil could outgrow the taste of Dorwinion Red… no, it was addressed to the King’s Advisor… Arveldir read it to me… it was from Erestor, and spoke in veiled terms describing someone who could be me… requesting, if this person be alive and well, that Lord Glorfindel would benefit from a few lines or a visit… and ended with a postscript to say that, if the king’s advisor was the same who was friends with Erestor, then he would be glad of news of the advisor himself… so from then on, I had to hurry to get well, to regain my strength, and Arveldir insisted on accompanying me as he knew the ways of Rivendell a little whereas before, of course, it was always you riding out to meet me in Mirkwood.’

‘I didn’t want to subject you to Elrond’s scrutiny. He’s better than he was, but he’s still a bit disapproving…’

‘On the journey over, Arveldir unbent a little and told me what his first visit here was like… he said Elrond told Erestor outright that he wasn’t having anything untoward happening under his roof…’

‘That’s right! Said it in front of me… in front of far too many people in fact. Erestor looked at him down that nose of his, turned on his heel and swept out of the hall snapping his fingers and ordering the servants to bring his and Arveldir’s luggage as they were going to stay at the nearest inn before setting off… he said… for home…’ 

‘Arveldir said that Elrond relented, but with very bad grace. So I wondered that he welcomed us with surprise, but with every sign of meaning it.’

‘When did you arrive?’

‘Late last night. Erestor said he expected your knights would talk you into getting back today, but he thought a tavern-stop might have been planned and so suggested you could be some while. ’

‘The message… did it… did it say anything about why…?’

‘I do not know. Nor do I care; it was enough that you still wanted to see me, it suffices that it has brought me back to you. Now, is there anything else you want to know?’

‘Yes…’ Glorfindel said, smiling as Triwathon gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘I want to know if you can still do that thing with Honey Beer…’

Triwathon rolled off him and padded across to where a small backpack lay neatly against a wall. Glorfindel admired the view as his friend bent to open it and take something out. A sound, a cork extracted from a bottle, perhaps, and Triwathon turned, an open bottle of beer in his hands and a delicious, mischievous smile on his face.

‘Well, let see, shall we?’ he said.


	4. Honey Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triwathon, Glorfindel, and a bottle of Honey Beer. Adult content.

Glorfindel’s mouth was suddenly dry as Triwathon approached the bed. The mischievous smile had faded now, leaving a lingering lift to his mouth and a deepening of his rich, dark eyes. From looking thin and a little frail after his long recuperation, Triwathon now looked sparse and lean, pared down to nothing but essentials; beautiful, long limbs, smooth muscles, hair like the darkest of flames, compelling eyes...

And ready. He looked very, very ready.

Glorfindel swallowed as Triwathon gestured him to lie back on the bed. He tried to arrange himself enticingly, but really, he was just burning and desperate and his body jumped and jittered just at the thought, the promise of Triwathon. He saw his friend’s gaze sweep his body, linger on the evidence of his arousal, wander back to his face as he stood at the bedside and took a small mouthful of the beer.

‘What was it I said, all those years ago? You can remember the taste of good red wine, recall the vintage, if you try; but the honey beer they brew in the caverns of Mirkwood, fed by the work of the forest hives, ah, that, that you remember forever. It is sweet and heady and fills the mouth and the senses, and it lingers, it lingers so that you can never, ever forget its promise and savour.’ Triwathon smiled down at Glorfindel as he took another sip and climbed onto the bed to straddle the golden-haired warrior. ‘And then I said that you, iphant-nin, hir-nin, Laurefindil-min, you are honey beer. Unforgettable and delicious, refreshing and full of promise.’

Glorfindel felt his heartbeat ratchet up as he looked into Triwathon’s dark eyes. Need and desire surged in him, the heavy heat of his lover’s erection hard against his belly as the Triwathon took another mouthful of beer and leaned forward to capture Glorfindel’s lips with his own, opening his mouth to allow the honey beer to trickle in. With a moan that was almost a whimper the Balrog-slayer felt the tingle of the beer, cool inside his mouth, as Triwathon’s tongue slid around his own and the taste and scent of the sweet, light ale filled his senses.

The kiss ended, Triwathon lifted away, licked his lips.

‘More?’ he asked.

Glorfindel writhed his hips and gasped.

‘Please, more, yes…’

Triwathon took another sip and dribbled the beer into Glorfindel’s mouth. His golden-haired lover lifted up into the kiss, drinking greedily while the beer fizzled around their mingling tongues and when they parted, Triwathon’s eyes were dark pools of passion and Glorfindel was breathing heavily.

‘So, is your abdomen still as flat as it was the last time I visited you with a bottle of honey beer, Laurefindil-nin?’

‘Yes.’ Glorfindel’s voice was husky with need.

‘Let’s see, then…’

Triwathon edged his way back, sliding over Glorfindel’s groin with slow deliberation, feeling the push and hardness of his arousal under him, moving down the Balrog-slayer’s body to the point where his Laurefindil’s erection was freed and he could drift a free hand over the steel-in-silk while with the other he raised the bottle high and then lowered it swiftly, tipping it so that honey beer dripped down onto the hard, flat abdomen, splashing around the navel. Glorfindel gasped and convulsed and cried out at the touch of cold beer on his skin.

‘Yes, as taut and fine and beautiful as ever… and you are just as much of a fidget as you ever were! You will spill it, and on your own bedding this time, if you are not careful!’

He lowered his head explored Glorfindel’s navel with his tongue, swirling the honey beer around before fastening his mouth over the little pool of liquid and sucking it up into his mouth. 

The Balrog-slayer arched his back with a little cry and Triwathon ran his tongue once more around the little dip in the firm abdomen before sitting up and looking down at Glorfindel, his heart full, his eyes hungry, an agony of need urgent in him.

But he would wait. For Glorfindel, he would defer his own satisfaction.

‘I think I need a drink, Honey Beer,’ he said, and slithered down the beautiful body to rest between Glorfindel’s strong thighs. ‘If you don’t mind?’

‘Saes… ah, Triwathon…’

Triwathon lifted his head and took a mouthful of beer, setting the bottle aside and taking a firm grip of Glorfindel’s erection. Holding the beer in his mouth, he extended the tip of his tongue to toy with the head of his lover’s arousal where a glisten showed him how ready he was for this attention. Suddenly, with no warning, he pulled him between his lips and into his mouth where the cool fizzing of the beer ricocheted off the hard, hot flesh and Glorfindel jammed his fist in his mouth and stifled his moans, arching his hips to thrust into Triwathon’s mouth as the Mirkwood warrior swallowed the beer, taking Glorfindel deeper into his mouth as he did so, his free hand coming up to explore around, between, beneath, touching and teasing.

His tongue slid and circled as he began to work on his mouthful of Balrog-slayer, as Glorfindel grew more vocal, one hand grasping the back of Triwathon’s head to guide his push and thrust, and the excess of teeth and tongue and touch mounted in him so that he was all sensation, all heat, everything that was Glorfindel focussed into that wonderful feeling of slide and need and want and desire and Triwathon moaned around him and it was too much and everything stood poised at the perfect peak of orgasm as with a wail he found his climax swamping him, Triwathon swallowing, and swallowing, and swallowing in perfect time with every surge and pulse until finally Glorfindel stilled, and Triwathon gentled his mouth and carefully released him, sliding back up the bed to take Glorfindel in his arms and be kissed by him, kissed and held and stroked.

‘Is there any beer left?’ Glorfindel asked languorously.

‘Yes. Why, thirsty?’

‘Well, you and I have some unfinished business…’ The Balrog-slayer slid his hand between their bodies to stroke Triwathon’s erection. ‘And since I have no oil, and we do have beer… and I do love the tingle…’

Triwathon smiled and reached for the beer, passing the bottle to Glorfindel and getting comfortable on his back.

‘Since you ask so nicely… it would be a shame to let it go flat, would it not?’


	5. Relaxed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel and Triwathon talk a little...

Triwathon relaxed with a smile. Glorfindel was clutching him like an elfling would hold a doll, hugged against his chest, and it sounded very much as if the Balrog-slayer had drifted into reverie.

Triwathon snuggled gently in, moving his face so his cheek was no longer resting on skin sticky with a spill of escaped honey beer. The fact was, he was tired himself. 

Not really properly recovered from the spear in his side, Triwathon had played down the extent of his injury, the fact that he still tired far too quickly and that he was still in frequent pain… and that the strange being of darkness and light was still an occasional visitor to his dreams.

Glorfindel didn’t need to know any of that, not yet. All he needed to know was that they were together again.

Triwathon hadn’t realised how much he’d missed the Balrog-slayer, not really. The last time…

It took Triwathon a moment or two to work out the last time. It had been the year before the dragon had come to the Lonely Mountain, only around twenty years or so after their first shared Yuletide in Mirkwood, and after that, of course, things had changed dramatically. For the last twenty five decades the Woodland Realm had been virtually shut down, with travel inside and outside its borders rigidly controlled to protect the Silvans trying to make a life there. It hadn’t prevented orc attacks, increased skirmishes from Dol Guldur, a sudden explosion of the spider population and the growth of darker shadows in the forest than previously, but it had meant that the dangers they had faced had been on their own territory. Thranduil had held his people close, had protected his own, and if that meant one or two of his subjects were separated from their lovers, it was a hard thing, but better to live in hope than die and know your only hope of a reunion was beyond the Halls of Mandos…

Of course, that wasn’t an option for Triwathon. Glorfindel’s fëa had belonged to the Lord of the Fountains ever since the days of Gondolin, and although the Balrog-slayer had been released from his vows while he lived his second life in Middle Earth, once he sailed, or died again, he would be claimed by the one he loved best.

It wasn’t that Triwathon minded; they had always been honest, had always known that what they had was precious and fleeting, to be savoured for its joys and not lamented for its bitterness. 

Triwathon had yet to find his forever-love, but he was aware that Glorfindel, while very nearly almost perfect, was not it. Besides, the Balrog-slayer had found his one true fëa-mate long ago in Gondolin, and that same lord now waited for him in the Undying Lands.

No, Triwathon didn’t begrudge Glorfindel that comfort to come. But he did wish he had been outside the borders of Mirkwood when they had been shut, or that Glorfindel had been inside them, all that time apart and now he felt that time was running out, at last, the end of the age upon them and he had barely begun to know this wonderful, damaged, beautiful hero.

He smiled and gently kissed the nearest patch of bare flesh, just where Glorfindel’s peach skin and white scarring and red marks of flame all converged. The Balrog-slayer twitched.

‘…not asleep, were you, Triwathon?’ 

‘Well, perhaps one of us was, my Honey Beer.’

In a swift, gentle series of movements Glorfindel moved so that he was lying over Triwathon, straddling him so he could support most of his own weight on his thighs and forearms while he kissed the beautiful mouth, his eyes closing in pleasure as he put all his attention into the moment, into the delight of the kiss.

‘Oh, I have missed you, Triwathon of the beautiful fëa!’ 

For a fleeing moment Triwathon considered asking why, then, had Glorfindel not sought him sooner? But it would be unfair, for he hadn’t sought the Balrog-slayer, either. True, Mirkwood had been besieged, but not for all the time they had been apart. And he’d had his orders, but not every day had been one of duty. What had happened? Why had they stopped communicating, stopped trying?

‘Good question,’ Glorfindel said, startling Triwathon who hadn’t meant to speak aloud. In fact, he could not have done, for his mouth had been full of Glorfindel’s tongue at the time, and so otherwise busy. ‘What happened? When was the last time we spoke?’

‘The Yule before the dragon came. I remember you saying there were too many dwarves on the old road for comfort and you’d ride back on our forest track instead. I rode with you, as far as the river, and we had a night in one of the empty guard flets…’

‘I remember that. Everyone else in the company knew what was going on, the grins on their faces in the morning…’

‘Well, I told you, sound carries in the woods…’

‘Except for Erestor, he wasn’t very happy about it. Come to think, that trip was the last time he heard from Arveldir, too…’

‘Thranduil hadn’t been able to spare Arveldir so he could not ride out with us, I recall. Which might have explained Erestor’s impatience. I didn’t want to leave you in the forest.’

‘Well, the escort knew what they were doing and got us to the end of the trees safely. I think I’d have rather been on my own, in fact, if I hadn’t had Erestor to think about, I’d have declined the guard completely. But that was the last I saw of you, watching from the far side of the river, not waving, just standing looking… almost broke my heart. I so nearly came back.’

‘You could have, you know. You always could, my king would have welcomed you. Still would, in fact.’

‘Ai, do not tempt me…’

Triwathon reached up gently to stroke Glorfindel’s hair.

‘Sticky,’ he said. ‘We spilled some beer.’

‘Yes, we did, a bit, didn’t we?’

‘Arveldir sent a hawk, you know,’ Triwathon said. ‘He was missing Erestor, and knew I missed you, also. He said it would look better if he wrote, but that if it were to come from both of us, it would look more respectable if Elrond were to try to object. We invited you for the Year’s Beginning celebrations. But we never heard back. The hawk didn’t return. And by the time we realised, our king had ordered the borders shut. After that the only messages that were sent out were coded, and official, and alarming.’

‘I should have tried harder…’

‘So should I.’ 

‘But I was afraid…’

‘Yes. So was I.’ Triwathon sighed and looked up into those too-blue eyes. ‘No doubt Arveldir and Erestor are having this conversation, too.’

‘Or one like it, and I hope it leads to something for them, Triwathon, I… you know I’m not free beyond these shores…’

‘Yes, I do know that.’

‘But that doesn’t mean I don’t want… that is… you being dead wasn’t the only thing that scared me.’

‘I know that, too. What was it, were you scared you’d find yourself too much in love?

‘Maybe…’

‘That’s how I felt, too. Then I realised, I already was, so the best thing I could do was embrace it.’

‘Triwathon?’

‘Yes?’

‘How do you know so damn much that I haven’t got a clue about?’

‘My Commander – and my king – both encourage me to be everything I can, not just their warrior. I’m not known as Triwathon the Orc-slayer, or the Scourge of the Spiders; I’m just Triwathon, and everyone knows exactly who that is without any kind of appellation.’

‘Meaning…?’

‘I think Lord Elrond has needed Glorfindel the Balrog-Slayer these past few centuries, and has forgotten all about the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower…’ Triwathon shook his head, seeing confusion in Glorfindel’s eyes. ‘Anyway, it really doesn’t matter to me what happens beyond the Sundering Seas, Laurefindil, iphant-nin. I’m Silvan. And even though, yes, I believe now that I can sail if I wish, I do not wish to; I have never seen Valinor, so I do not miss it. I love my forest, and I would rather be there forever than somewhere I don’t know.’

‘Forever is a long time, you know.’

‘I suppose it is. But more importantly, how long before we are expected to show ourselves at the supper table? You will need a hair wash; I think we both might…’

‘There’s time. I need something else, first; I need you. I want you, Triwathon. It was amazing, before, your mouth is so clever… but… I want you.’

‘That sounds like a plan.’ 

*

They were bathing together afterwards when the knock came at the outer door followed shortly thereafter by Erestor’s voice.

‘You have twenty minutes, Glorfindel, before I come and tell you that you have ten minutes to present yourself in the Great Hall with your guest.’

Glorfindel grinned and turned to call out.

‘My thanks, Erestor. We will be there.’

He twisted in the water to face Triwathon again.

‘Now, where were we?’

‘You were trying to convince me we had time for more beer… and I was about to suggest we save it for later.’

‘True…’ The Balrog-slayer sighed. ‘Later it is, then.’

‘Could I borrow a second towel for my hair?’ Triwathon asked as he prepared to leave the pool. ‘Most of my things are in my chamber…’

‘Of course you… Wait, you have your own room?’

‘Yes. It has no bathing room, though, so Erestor let me in here…’

‘Hmm… I thought Elrond was being remarkably tolerant. Extra towel, second drawer down… snag me one, will you?’

‘Thank you.’ Triwathon wrapped up in his existing, damp-from-earlier towel and headed for the bedchamber. He opened the drawer and stood staring at what looked like a grey and tattered rag, the remains of what might once have been an embroidered flower near one edge. ‘Oh, Glorfindel…’

‘What?’ The Balrog-slayer stood dripping in the doorway. ‘Oh. Yes. Story about that…’

Triwathon took two towels from the drawer and draped one around Glorfindel’s shoulders.

‘Tell me?’ he said as he began to rub dry his hair. 

‘Well, it’s one of the last ones you made. I kept it, that’s all that’s left now. Silly new housekeeper came in and decided it wasn’t worth keeping… stopped her before she threw it on the fire, but it caused a bit of a racket and Erestor came to see what was up and then Elrond showed up and… I got a little… it’s probably why Erestor wrote to you, I… suddenly I remembered how much you meant to me. How much your gift meant to me… I don’t expect you to understand…’

‘Well…’ Triwathon left off drying his hair and reached into his saddle bags, bringing up a small swatch of fabric, no bigger than a handkerchief. ‘This is all I have left of the one you gave me to keep; it was with me the day I was speared, and Canadion used it to stem the blood… so much of it was unsalvageable, but for this patch.’

‘Not just me being a sentimental old fool, then.’

‘Only if I’m a sentimental not-quite-so-old fool,’ Triwathon said, smiling. ‘And it perhaps saved my life.’ 

He found leggings and a shirt in his saddlebags and dressed, watching with amusement as Glorfindel pulled random clothes out of the wardrobe and fought his way into them.

‘Ready.’

Glorfindel had selected dark blue leggings and a white shirt, open halfway down the front. Over the leggings he pulled on charcoal grey boots.

‘Do you need help with your hair?’ Triwathon asked.

‘No, I want to be unbound tonight. And I’d like you to do the same; I have something for you to wear, if you will?’ 

Glorfindel went to the chest and opened the top drawer, removing a small, flat box. 

‘It is from the old days, and I think it would look nice on your dark hair.’

He stood Triwathon in front of a looking glass and removed a circlet from the box, setting it on Triwathon’s dark flame hair. It was crafted of twisted silver, and in amongst the strands tiny golden flowers glinted like yellow stars.

‘Laurefindil! Is it permitted for me to wear this? It must be very precious!’

‘Well, it is mine, to do with as I will. It’s a pretty thing, but when you wear a trinket like this, you never get to see it, unless you’re staring in the looking glass all the time. But I have another, anyway.’ 

He went to rummage in the drawer again and returned with a second circlet in his hands, this one studded with sapphires. He glanced in the mirror over Triwathon’s shoulder and adjusted the set of it.

‘We look like we’ve stepped out of the past and into the now,’ Glorfindel said. ‘We’ll do, I think.’

A knock on the door, and the Balrog-slayer opened it to find Erestor there, a folded garment of some sort over his arm.

‘I wished to be sure you were ready, mellon-nin,’ he said. 

‘We’re so ready you can come in,’ he said. ‘What have you got there?’

‘Ah. Lord Elrond has asked for formal wear – to honour our guests – and knowing that your friend has had to travel with haste and a minimal wardrobe…’ Erestor followed Glorfindel into his chambers and bowed to Triwathon. ‘Good evening, Commander.’

‘Commander?’ Glorfindel echoed.

‘Yes, did not you know…? No matter, no doubt there were other topics of conversation… Commander Triwathon, I have brought a formal robe for you; I thought it would be appropriate without being too fussy…’ He looked Glorfindel over. ‘Your blue robe, Glorfindel, or Elrond will have a fit, an open shirt and no braids, circlet of Gondolin notwithstanding… Commander, may I help?’

Bemused, Triwathon nodded.

‘Thank you, Lord Erestor, I wouldn’t wish to be out of place…’

The robe was simple; sleeveless and long in a dark, foresty shade of green velvet, it draped over Triwathon’s shoulders and added a layer of warmth he hadn’t realised he needed. Erestor tweaked the folds neatly for him, glanced at the flower-studded circlet with an amused eyebrow, and made a very small smile.

‘You look rested, Commander, relaxed. Well, Lord Glorfindel will no doubt escort you to the Great Hall… if you will excuse me, I must seek out Lord Arveldir and make sure he does not get lost. I will see you at supper.’


	6. At Elrond's Board

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Triwathon and Glorfindel attend Elrond's Yule Eve feast...

‘You’re now Commander Triwathon?’ Glorfindel queried once Erestor had gone.

‘Acting commander, at the time of my injury. Although, strictly speaking, I may soon have no rank at all for a time; there’s a lot happening in the ordering of the warriors now. On which subject, I want to ask your opinion of something, not now, but once we can focus on anything else than each other for a few moments…’

‘Could take a while… I just want to fill my eyes up with you…’

‘I know what you mean. I hadn’t forgotten the look of you, your expressions, but to see you again…’

‘We’d better present ourselves. You won’t mind if I don’t hold your hand? Elrond really doesn’t like public displays between ellyn…’

Triwathon shook his head.

‘Of course; you know the ways of the house and I wouldn’t wish to offend. Unless you think me weak and so in need of your arm down the steps…’

Glorfindel laughed.

‘Better not,’ he said. ‘If you’re that weak, I’d need to carry you.’

The Great Hall was magnificent, bright with lamps and resplendent with tapestries. Many of the guests were already gathered, and Erestor came over to welcome Triwathon formally into the room.

‘Even though there are comparatively few of us, now, Lord Elrond still keeps two tables. You are with Glorfindel, naturally, on the top table, but your escort said they preferred to be seated lower; is that acceptable?’

‘If my guards are satisfied, then of course.’

‘This way, then.’ Erestor showed Triwathon to his place, a few seats down from the central high seat and with a dark-haired ellon next to him. 

‘You know Elladan, of course?’

‘Indeed, we met when I rode in last night,’ Triwathon said. ‘Your brother is not here?’

‘He’s too busy flirting with your escort, Commander,’ Elladan said.

‘Is it possible to drop him some kind of a hint?’ Triwathon said. ‘Captain Celeguel lost her beloved at the Battle of the Five Armies and she…’

‘I don’t think it’s the fair captain he’s interested in…’

Glorfindel’s gaze followed Elladan and Triwathon’s, and he saw Elrohir smiling in a way that was a little too friendly at a bronze-haired ellon in smart dress uniform. He sucked his teeth.

‘Better hope your adar doesn’t notice,’ he said.

Elladan laughed.

‘Oh, Father seems to pick and choose what he sees these days. So, the lovely Celeguel is unattached?’

‘And to be treated with respect.’ Erestor leaned forward to speak in Elladan’s ear. ‘I will find out, if it is otherwise…’

The hall fell silent for a moment as a tall and finely-robed figure appeared; Elrond had dressed in his best for the Yule Eve feast, and stood in the arch of the doorway to look around the hall. His clear grey eyes swept the gathering, his gaze lingering on Glorfindel for a moment and then on Triwathon at his side. A hint of a frown seemed to pass across his face, a momentary puzzlement, perhaps, his focus on the gold-studded circlet and then glancing to Glorfindel’s similarly-decorated brow. An eyebrow quirked and the corner of his mouth lifted in a suggestion of a knowing smile.

‘Good evening, guests, friends, each and all. Please be seated, the cooks are eager for our approbation,’ he said as he crossed with sweeping strides to his seat. ‘Commander Triwathon, you look better today. You are more rested now, I hope?’

‘I am, Lord Elrond, my thanks.’

‘Good. It is always pleasant to receive visitors from Mirkwood – your pardon, it is renamed, is it not? And reshaped?’

‘The forest is as much the same shape as it ever was, barring a few temporary losses to fire,’ Triwathon answered. ‘But the borders have been redrawn and my king’s realm is now known as Eryn Lasgalen, in token that we hope to make the forest fresh again.’

‘It is true that much has been lost, and much must be made again. And not everything will be as it was before,’ Elrond said with a gracious inclination of his head, signalling he was not going to worry Triwathon with more conversation just yet.

Elrohir, next to his father, answered him, diverting him further.

‘But if things went back to exactly how they were, what would the point have been?’

Glorfindel squeezed Triwathon’s leg gently under the table.

‘Be easy. Our lord has done his social duty, you can relax now.’

‘With you doing that to me?’

‘Sorry. I’ll have both my hands busy when they bring the food.’

The meal being served, conversation at the table fell to a minimum as people concentrated on their plates. But before long, Triwathon became aware that, though nobody was commenting, nearly everyone had glanced at least once or twice at the circlet he had allowed Glorfindel to place on his head. 

In a moment between servings while glasses were refilled and the conversation picked up again, he gave Glorfindel a little nudge under the table. 

At once the golden smile was fixed on him.

‘Are you enjoying the feast, Triwathon?’

‘I am so – except for one small detail I hope you will help me with…’

‘Anything, for you!’

Triwathon smiled at the enthusiasm of Glorfindel’s reply.

‘It is… I wonder, that is all. Everyone is staring at the circlet you lent me; it has more significance, does it not, than that it would look nice in my hair and you would have a chance to look at it?’

‘Well, no… not in itself, it isn’t like a betrothal ring or anything like that…’

Glorfindel faltered and Triwathon’s mouth curved up at the edges in an encouraging smile.

‘No, Laurefindil, but there is something? Go on?’

‘It’s more that I don’t tend to wear either of them. So to see both circlets of the House of the Golden Flower in use at the same time… well, it’s been a very long while since even one saw the light of day. Naturally, people are curious… and it really does look fine on your dark hair, my beautiful friend.’

‘So, it is not some declaration of intent?’

‘No, of course not! I would not subject you unwittingly to such a thing…’

‘No, naturally.’ Triwathon smiled and shook his head, looking down for a moment to hide the full extent of his amusement. ‘Instead, you simply make sure every eye is on us and the use of both circlets, one each, suggests, without stating, that we are to be considered… what? A couple?’

‘It’s more to make sure you don’t get propositioned without the persons concerned being aware that I’m an interested party…’

‘…because I am quite surely incapable of telling them that myself!’ Triwathon laughed. ‘Laurefindil-nin, I have not ridden all this way in the cold and the wet just to allow someone other than your good self to flirt with me.’

‘Well, and I am pleased to hear…’ Glorfindel broke off and lowered his voice to continue. ‘Ai, Valar! Did you see that?’

‘See what, melle… mellon-nin?’

‘Look, look at Erestor!’

Triwathon took a surreptitious glance across at Elrond’s dark-haired advisor; to his eyes, he seemed to be doing nothing untoward… but then he saw Erestor cut a small corner from a piece of food on his plate and move it across onto Arveldir’s.

‘I see, but I do not quite follow…?’

‘It is… in the First Age, it was how one showed one wished to… to provide for the other, to move from a friendship into something more… and now he is…’

Erestor’s expression was carefully prim, but he had taken Arveldir’s cutlery and speared a slice of vegetable on his own plate and held it out to his friend, his expressive eyes enormous in his thin face. Arveldir hesitated, and then steadied the fork, covering Erestor’s hand with his own before taking the morsel into his mouth and eating it. Something about the exchange made it look more than usually intimate, as if more was happening here than a little flirtation over the supper table.

Triwathon looked away with a glance at Glorfindel. The Balrog-slayer was staring.

‘I wonder what Elrond will say to that?’ he said softly. 

‘I wonder, myself, what Lord Arveldir will say,’ Triwathon said with a smile. ‘I am willing to guess that one of our houses will be without its chief advisor shortly…’

‘And perhaps the other will end up with two?’ Glorfindel grinned. ‘It’s good to see Erestor looking so happy, though.’

Triwathon glanced at Elrond’s advisor again. He was concentrating on eating the food himself, now, and apart from a slight tilt to his head and a very faint flush to his face, he looked much the same to Triwathon’s eyes.

‘More wine?’ Glorfindel asked, waving the flagon. ‘Granted, it’s not a fine red…’

‘Thank you.’

Triwathon held out his goblet and Glorfindel steadied it to pour the wine, his fingers covering Triwathon’s for just a second. The contact felt like a gift.

The rest of the meal passed easily for Triwathon, Elladan conversing lightly with him occasionally, Glorfindel at his side finding excuses to brush against his thigh under the table, his shoulder, his arm, and after the feast ended, and Elrond rose from the table to make his way to the Hall of Fire, the rest of the table made ready to follow.

Triwathon began to push back his chair and make to get to his feet, but the movement caused a sudden stab of pain to his side. He winced, and ceased his attempts to rise, riding out the discomfort.

‘What is the matter?’ Glorfindel asked anxiously. ‘You are hurting, still? Are you not healed yet?’

‘It’s passed… just some movements wake up the wound again. Excessively-strong hugs of greeting, perhaps. But I am fine.’

‘It is all my fault, then.’ Glorfindel put a hand under Triwathon’s elbow to support him. ‘Let me help you.’ 

At his other side, Elladan pulled away the chair. 

‘Thank you, both of you,’ Triwathon said. ‘I am fine. It is passed.’

‘How were you wounded?’ Elladan asked, coming to his other side.

‘He took a poisoned, burning lance in the side and he said he was fine earlier…’ Glorfindel said with a hint of a growl. ‘Come on, beautiful, you need to sit down.’

‘Really, do not fuss so…’ Triwathon took a deep breath and found his balance. ‘It is fine. I may have overestimated myself… we rode late into the evening, eager to reach shelter, and I think perhaps it was more than I should have done…’

‘But, of course, you have had a relaxing and quiet day with no exertion whatsoever,’ Elladan suggested with a sly grin at Glorfindel as he led them into the Hall of Fire, aiming for a quiet alcove away from the main grouping of people. ‘So perhaps you have simply stiffened up.’

‘Indeed,’ Triwathon answered, his face perfectly polite. ‘I bathed, and then shared a bottle of beer with Lord Glorfindel.’

‘We had a lot of catching up to do,’ Glorfindel said, aiming for the same casual air but not quite managing it. ‘And Triwathon brought honey beer, all the way from Mirkwood… Sorry, Eryn Lasgalen.’

‘I liked how you set Adar right about that, Commander,’ Elladan said. ‘It’s always nice to hear someone tell him off, especially when they do it so well he doesn’t notice… but might I ask a favour? I would dearly love an introduction to your friend Celeguel, perhaps?’

‘Triwathon isn’t going anywhere for a while,’ Glorfindel said sternly as they reached the alcove and he helped Triwathon to a seat. ‘He’s going to stay there quietly so…’

‘So, if someone could ask Captain Celeguel to come over, for I wish to ask her something, that will satisfy both you and Elladan,’ Triwathon said.

‘I’ll go,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Otherwise Elladan will already have got his introduction and then where would we be?’ He dropped a hand to Triwathon’s shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. ‘You stay and rest; I will be right back.’

While he was gone to seek Celeguel, Erestor and Arveldir came across. Erestor had a firm, if decorous grip on Arveldir’s hand, but walked so close together it was hardly obvious.

‘Might we join you, Commander?’ Erestor asked. ‘And are you quite well?’

‘Please, be welcome. But would you call me by name?’

‘Triwathon, then. You seemed to be in pain for a moment? May I suggest Lord Elrond could help; he is a fine healer…’

‘It’s nothing…’

Arveldir sniffed as he swished his robes back before taking a seat.

‘You say that only because you were unconscious most of the time you were healing, my young friend. Remember, the healers said you were still to take care…’

‘Arveldir, if I need attention, I will seek it, I assure you. Besides, do you think Glorfindel would let me neglect myself?’

‘True enough. Very well, I will allow him to monitor your health; it will give me more time for other important matters.’

‘You are meant to be having some time off, Arveldir, you should not have any important matters to consider.’

‘Ah, but Erestor and I…’ He paused to glance at Elrond’s advisor, waited for him to nod before continuing. ‘We are currently in talks concerning a merger… pooling our resources…’

‘A consolidation of our positions, for the advancement of our mutual benefit,’ Erestor said. ‘It is to be hoped that King Thranduil will not object?’

‘I am not in a position to speak for my king, but I am sure two such minds as yours will find a way. I offer you my best wishes for your future venture together.’

‘We thank you,’ Erestor said. ‘You will understand, of course, that we are not making loud announcements at present. But Arveldir thought the news would bring you pleasure.’

‘It does so. And your confidence honours me.’

‘The best company always finds each other out,’ Elrohir said as he came up, bringing with him the guard he’d been chatting to earlier. ‘Can we find some more seats from somewhere? Rusdir’s going to bear us company, yes?’

‘Commander… Lord Arveldir… if you do not wish…’

‘No, we are all guests together and Lord Elrond’s house is known for its fairness and the respect given to all,’ Erestor said. ‘Besides, you and your company have facilitated some happy reunions, for which I am most grateful.’

‘You will have to stop calling me Commander, of course,’ Triwathon said with a smile.

Elladan grinned suddenly and slid along the seat to make space as Celeguel approached.

‘You wished to speak with me, Commander?’

‘Yes, Captain, thank you. Will you sit?’

Ellandan took advantage of Triwathon’s invitation to pat the space beside him and, although Celeguel raised a challenging eyebrow, she lowered herself smoothly into the space.

‘Concerning tomorrow’s observances,’ Triwathon began. ‘Have you and your guard made arrangements?’

‘Amongst ourselves, yes. We will beg leave not to attend the board here, but to gather privately. Would you like to join us?’

‘For a while, yes; we have many names in common. But then…’

‘You will need time with your friend Lord Glorfindel, of course. Lord Arveldir?’

Arveldir glanced at Erestor, who nodded. 

‘Of course you must attend your observances, my friend,’ he said.

‘What’s this about?’ Elrohir asked, looking at his new friend who, in turn, looked at Celeguel.

‘May I speak of such things here?’ she asked, turning to Arveldir.

‘Permit me to explain,’ he said, and turned towards the twins. ‘It is a tradition amongst Silvans that we do not speak the names of our dead except on particular occasions. The longest night of the year, when the stars are brightest and draw them close to us in memory is one such night. Then we name them, speak of them, speak to them, perhaps… It is our king’s long-standing order that none of us be alone on the Night of the Names.’ He turned to smile at Erestor before looking back at Elladan. ‘Your father’s advisor has shared the observances with me in times past, and Glorfindel has taken part in the remembrances.’

‘In fact,’ Erestor put in, ‘Lord Elrond has offered to set aside a room for our Silvan guests. So all will be easy, if that suits you, Captain?’

‘Then please thank the lord for us.’ Celeguel inclined her head. ‘It is not a closed observance, so if there are any of Imladris who wish to remember their dead, or if they have any lost ones in common with us, they are welcome. I will pass the word to the others.’

‘May I walk you back?’ Elladan said. ‘I was hoping for an introduction, but it seems I must do it myself…’

‘Forgive me,’ Erestor said. ‘Captain, this is Elladan, the elder of Lord Elrond’s sons. He is entirely not to be trusted.’

‘Duly noted, my lord,’ she said, giving Elladan a thorough inspection with her eyes. ‘And yes, you may walk me back.’

He rose to his feet and offered her his arm, brightening.

‘And you can tell me all about your brother,’ Celeguel finished.

Rusdir and Elrohir burst out laughing as the captain led Elladan away; even Erestor smiled.

‘It is a shame Glorfindel missed that,’ he said. ‘I am sure he would have enjoyed it…’

‘Yes; and where is he?’ Arveldir asked. ‘I thought to find him with you, Triwathon?’

‘He had been here, until he went to fetch Celeguel…’

‘He’s over there,’ Elrohir said. ‘He’s talking to Adar…’

‘Or your father is talking to him,’ Erestor said. ‘And it does not look like a friendly chat…’


	7. Seeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elrond talks to Glorfindel...

Glorfindel didn’t want to leave Triwathon’s side, not for a second. He was worried about him, and wanted nothing more than to hold him close and keep him safe, so the only thing for it was to walk away from him and talk sternly to himself about the need to behave with some propriety in Elrond’s hall.

He found the little cluster of Silvan guards and waited to be acknowledged before speaking.

‘Your pardon,’ he said. ‘But my friend Triwathon would like a moment’s speech with Captain Celeguel, if she is not busy?’

‘For the Commander, I am never too busy,’ she said with a smile. ‘Where is he?’

‘Come, let me take you across.’

But Glorfindel had had time to take no more than one step with Celeguel at his side when he was hailed.

‘Glorfindel! A moment of your time, if you please!’

The Balrog-slayer hid a sigh and bowed to Celeguel.

‘Triwathon is over in the far alcove with Elladan, one of Lord Elrond’s sons who, I understand, is very interested in getting to know you.’

‘I thank you for the warning, my lord.’

‘Glorfindel!’

‘I’d better go.’ 

‘Over here,’ Elrond said. ‘I do not want the entire hall to hear what I have to say.’

‘Oh? Is something amiss? An attack?’

‘No, it’s not danger... it is you.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. When Erestor told me he had invited Triwathon and Arveldir here for Yule, and that he thought it would help your nerves to spend time with your old friend, I was more than happy to welcome them… you know I do not, in general, approve of same-gender relationships, but for your peace of mind I was willing to overlook the matter, assuming you would, at least, remember to behave with propriety in my hall… instead of which, you… robes and circlets, what were you thinking?’

‘I was thinking, you said formal wear, Erestor provided Triwathon with the robe… I thought you’d like to see the finery out on show, you’re always telling me I don’t dress up enough…’

‘And then all through supper, you were flirting and mauling the poor fellow; it is to be hoped he did not feel uncomfortable with such a lack of decorum…’

‘It’s hardly likely, Elrond, and, anyway…’

Glorfindel broke off. If Elrond was intent on delivering a lecture, there was not a lot that would deflect him, and besides, mention of Erestor’s food-play with Arveldir would only get them into trouble, too…

‘And then you embraced him as you got up from the table…’

‘He was in pain, he needed support!’ Glorfindel found his patience running out, but he tried to be calm, to explain. ‘Elladan was there, too, he helped steady him…’

‘This hall may be reduced, Glorfindel, but it still has its dignity, it needs its dignity and I warn you, I will not have you behaving like some love-struck fool…’

It was too much, but Elrond didn’t notice the change in his seneschal, didn’t notice his fists clench at his sides, his shoulders brace and stiffen. 

Instead, he simply carried on with his diatribe.

‘I could hardly bear to look at you at times tonight; you should know I do not like to see…’

Glorfindel took a step back and a deep breath. 

‘Then don’t look, Elrond!’ he shouted. ‘Eru knows you’ve been not-looking at everyone else tonight! Why pick on me?’

With that he turned on his heel and stalked out of the Hall of Fire, head held high, shaking and trembling with fury and fighting back the tears. How typical, how like Elrond, to give with one hand and then snatch everything away with both, just when you thought things were going really well, at last, to leave you broken and make you feel you ought to be ashamed of being yourself...

He slammed his hands against the double doors and headed out into the night.

*

From the alcove, Triwathon and his companions watched as the conversation between Glorfindel and Elrond escalated, as Elrond grew sterner of face and Glorfindel’s gestures grew bigger, his body language defiant, his voice louder.

‘Oh, that does not look good!’ Elrohir said, picking up the repeated word ‘dignity’ from his father.

They all flinched at Glorfindel’s shout, but Erestor nodded.

‘Well said, mellon-nin,’ he murmured. ‘Triwathon, this is my fault… I was, perhaps, a little forward in my behaviour at the dinner table and, since  
Elrond knows it is no good trying to make me change my manners, he has obviously decided to vent his spleen on Glorfindel…’

‘I must go to him.’

‘He will probably be in the stables with his horse. I will show you the way… presently,’ Erestor said. ‘It seems my lord is on his way over to see how much of that exchange we heard… and agreed with… bear in mind, he likes to pretend all here are friends, and not lovers…’

‘Mellyn-nin, ion-nin…’ Elrond’s smile looked a little forced, but he approached with dignity and stature and smiled down at the table. ‘You will excuse Lord Glorfindel, I hope, Commander Triwathon; he suffered much during the First Age and he is still, I think, haunted by the events that led to the loss of his life…’

‘There is no need to apologise for Glorfindel, my lord,’ Triwathon said. ‘He and I have talked about his past.’

‘Yes, a terrible thing… even so, I really do not know what is wrong with him…’

‘We have just come through a long period of strife culminating in a terrible war, Lord Elrond,’ Triwathon said. ‘And so you had need of the Balrog-slayer…’

‘Yes, indeed, Glorfindel’s strength and might of arms has been invaluable…’

‘And you have needed the Balrog-slayer for so long, for so many decades, that he has lost sight of himself. He is so much more than that, my lord, he was the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, a favourite of the king, he was loved and valued for things other than his warcraft. That is all that is wrong with him.’

Pain jittered through Triwathon’s side as he made to get to his feet. He gasped. Erestor reached out to support him, the guard Rusdir coming to his side to steady him.

‘The Commander’s injury still troubles him, Lord Elrond,’ he said.

Elrond ducked his head, realising at last that at least one of the accusations he’d levelled at his seneschal had been mistaken.

‘If you will excuse me,’ Triwathon said as politely as he could manage, ‘I will seek Glorfindel and remind him of all that he is. Thank you, my lord, for the honour of a place at your table. I am most grateful.’

‘If you are in pain,’ Elrond said, ‘I will be glad to attend your hurts, Commander.’

‘Thank you, it is nothing that Lord Glorfindel cannot help me with; I would not wish to trouble you, my lord, when you have your hall to attend to.’ 

Triwathon bowed his head briefly and then turned to Erestor, who nodded and set off at his side.

‘It is not far, Commander…this way…’

He picked up a storm lantern from a table near the back of the house and led Triwathon out and down the steps, Rusdir supporting him on the other side.

‘I admire your courage, Triwathon, addressing Elrond in such a manner,’ Erestor began. ‘But the fact is, you are such a pleasantly-spoken fellow, he will find it impossible to take offence at anything you say as long as you say it so gently… have you thought about going into politics?’

Triwathon laughed.

‘No, indeed – I prefer to recognise my enemies from the first.’

‘And so, across the courtyard you will find the stable block. Asfaloth – Glorfindel’s horse – is in the third stall from the end. He will be there.’

‘Can you manage, Commander?’ Rusdir asked.

‘I am grateful, I will be fine. In truth, the pain has gone, but if Elrond is watching, I would not have him know that…’

‘A shame you will not go into politics,’ Erestor said, handing him the lantern. ‘You would be a natural.’

*

Triwathon found his way to the stable block easily enough, and the rough, deep gasping of Glorfindel’s sobs drew him to the correct stall. He lifted the latch.

Instantly, silence, other than the soft huffling of the horse.

‘It is only me,’ Triwathon said, slipping inside the stall and hanging the lantern from a hook on the wall. ‘I have come to admire your horse.’

Glorfindel was leaning against Asfaloth’s neck, his golden hair mingling with the white hairs of the horse’s mane. He stiffened at Triwathon’s voice and took a huge and ragged breath.

‘He is a very fine horse,’ Triwathon said, putting a gentle hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder, encouraging him to turn. ‘But if you need a shoulder to lean on, I am here now.’

He put his arms around Glorfindel as he found himself enfolded in a shuddery embrace, rubbing his hands over the broad, shaking shoulders.

‘Tomorrow, Honey Beer, we will gather the guard and leave. We will spend the evening under the stars, observing the Night of the Names, and then we will ride for Eryn Lasgalen, will that help?’

Glorfindel said nothing; he just buried his face more deeply in Triwathon’s hair.

‘My king will be glad to welcome you; there is a new company forming for warrior couples, we could put our names forward… Shall we? It is peace time, after all, there will be little actual fighting. You deserve a happier home than this, my dear Laurefindil… Or the Grey Havens; I assume you know the way… I will ride you to a ship, if that’s what you need, if I cannot help you…’

‘No!’

Now Glorfindel pulled away to glare at Triwathon.

‘No, I can’t, I’m not done here yet, and you… you…’ He shook his head, realisation dawning. ‘You would give me up?’

‘With very bad grace.’ Triwathon pushed Glorfindel’s hair back off his face, wiped the tears from his cheeks. ‘But if all I can do for you is put you back in the hands of your forever love to let him care for you, then it is what I will do.’

‘No…’ Glorfindel whispered. ‘No, it is just… Elrond. I get a little… impatient with him, sometimes.’

‘I am not surprised, if he treats you with so little respect. You, his loyal seneschal…’

‘His Balrog-slayer.’

‘No, that you are not.’ Triwathon locked his gaze on Glorfindel’s eyes, now teared and reddened, but still, so very blue, and made his voice strong. ‘You are Turgon’s Balrog-slayer, Laurefindil, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. You are one of the great Elven Lords of old, a friend of the Valar, you have seen the legendary Light of the West. You are the beloved consort of the Lord of the Fountains, you are he who has died and come back to live and walk amongst us, and you are kind and gentle to strangers and your eyes are – even now – much too blue.’

Glorfindel sniffed and cleared his throat.

‘Far too wise for me, you are,’ he said. ‘No, I won’t be sailing for a good while yet. Elrond is talking of going soon – within a handful of years – so if I can just wait him out…’

‘What happened in the hall?’ Triwathon asked. ‘All I heard was you telling him not to look…’

‘He said he didn’t like to see me… um… flirting with you. Yet he sees Erestor practically seducing Arveldir with his dinner, and Elrohir cuddling up to your escort guard… and because I stop you falling over…’

Triwathon laced his hands together around Glorfindel’s neck, beneath the golden hair.

‘Erestor said something about how Elrond won’t complain about him, and so he took it out on you, instead.’

‘Yes, that sounds about right.’ Glorfindel tipped his head back, leaning against Triwathon’s hands, and sighed. ‘Sorry, beautiful, I wanted tonight to be pleasant for you and instead I shout at Elrond and abandon you while I come out here… which is stupid, because I am wasting time and why should I feel sorry for myself anyway? You are here.’

‘Yes, I am. And, if you feel able, will you come to my room and look at my injury?’

‘I… but Elrond…’ 

‘Elrond saw I was in pain, and offered his services. I declined. Why would I want him prodding me when I can have your gentle hands on my skin?’

‘We’d better get back to the house, then. Are you in any pain now?’

‘No, I’m fine.’

‘Pity. Could have carried you up the stairs.’ 

‘Oh, that would never do… your left arm around my waist, and my arm around your shoulders, and that way you are simply helping.’ ‘What, like this?’ Glorfindel slid a supporting arm around Triwathon. ‘Ready?’

‘Ready, yes.’

Triwathon’s room was on the floor above Glorfindel’s, and looked across the valley towards the Misty Mountains, now hidden behind thick curtains. A fire burned in the grate and a storm lantern and taper stood on the hearth, ready for lighting. 

It was a large chamber, furnished for sleeping, sitting and working and Glorfindel helped his friend across to the bed.

‘Sit you there, I’ll get your lamps lit for you… I’m surprised at Elrond, putting you in here. You’ll get the morning sun. It does look magnificent, rising over the mountains and, granted, morning isn’t that early this time of year…’

Triwathon smiled as he watched his Honey Beer setting the room to rights. Soon, lamps and lanterns lit, the room glowed as golden as Glorfindel’s hair.

‘There. Now I have light to work by. Let me properly look at this injury… and why did you not say something when I had you naked earlier?’

‘Because I wanted you to look at me as a lover, not as a wounded ellon.’

Triwathon began to undress so that he could bare his side; Glorfindel helped.

‘I had better set this circlet aside, too. Thank you for the use of it, hir-nin, you honoured me.’

‘Triwathon, it was a pleasure to see you wear it.’

He set the circlet down on a table and placed his own next to it before helping pull Triwathon’s boots off and slide down his leggings, bringing the lantern close to the site of the injury.

‘Do you mind if I open the curtains? There’s a nice, fat moon out there and I find it helps me concentrate…’

‘Not at all.’

Once the curtains were thrown wide to admit the spilled milk of moonlight into the chamber, Glorfindel poured water into a basin and washed his hands before coming back and kneeling by the bedside. Triwathon gasped as cool hands covered his skin.

‘Sorry, beautiful, the water was cold… relax, now, let me work…’

Triwathon closed his eyes and allowed himself to melt into the mattress, following the touch of Glorfindel’s gentle fingers glancing around the hole in his side left by the spear.

‘Your ribs broke, your diaphragm ripped, your lung was punctured. How you weren’t killed…’

‘I needed to live so that I could see you again,’ Triwathon murmured. ‘Lord Námo would have taken me, if I’d wanted.’

‘I’m sure he would. He always chose his companions wisely… Oh, Triwathon! When I greeted you, I hugged you too tightly, right on the site of your wound and you didn’t say…’

‘I didn’t care. I just wanted to feel your arms around me.’

‘Hush, now. I’m just going to tell your body how to be stronger…’

Glorfindel began to hum softly under his breath, a low and sonorous sound, the words in it hidden and muted. He laid his hands on Triwathon’s side and felt the heat grow beneath his palms, spread out into the skin and muscle beneath, reached deeper in to resonate in bone and sinew, to soothe away the pain and leave a gentle warmth behind. His song ended, he lifted his head to see Triwathon looking at him with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

‘How does that feel, penneth?’

‘I feel much better, thank you.’ Triwathon caressed the golden head, stroked the beautiful hair. ‘And so do you.’

Glorfindel laughed, rising to sit on the side of the bed.

‘Yes, yes, I really do… perhaps it’s as you say, I’d forgotten I could do that… I’ve allowed Elrond to choose those bits of my nature that he needs and I’ve stifled the rest of myself for too long…’ Gently he gathered Triwathon in his arms and hugged him, careful to avoid his ribs. ‘Thank you, my dear, beautiful love. You show me how to be complete again. May I stay with you tonight?’

‘I would like that.’ Triwathon disentangled himself gently. ‘Now, before we get too wrapped up in each other, I have something for you… and you are wearing far too many clothes, hir-nin Honey Beer…’

Glorfindel pulled the curtains closed and began to undress, his eyes rapt on Triwathon as his young lover opened the chest at the foot of the bed and took out a neat package.

‘It is given with love,’ Triwathon said, handing Glorfindel the gift and returning to sit cross-legged on the bed. ‘It helped me through the pain, to work on this while I was recovering…’

‘Then, thank you.’ Glorfindel began to open the wrappings. ‘Thank you for thinking of me, when you were in pain. Thank you for… Oh, Triwathon…!’

Inside the package were two towels, their exact shade difficult to make out in the lamplight, but that they were blue, most definitely blue, and with yellow flowers embroidered on the border, was undoubtedly the case.

‘I had to ask someone else to dye the fabric,’ Triwathon said. ‘So the shade may not be right.’

‘But it is, it is right, even if it was pink, it would be right…’ Glorfindel began to laugh, and he joined Triwathon on the bed to hug him while he laughed, and if there were a few tears as well, they were good tears, cleansing and revitalising. ‘I cannot thank you enough.’

‘Just enjoy them, use them, think of me while you do. And now the roads are safer, it should be easier to send you more.’

‘Or for me to collect them from you.’

‘Or for me to deliver them.’

Glorfindel stroked the fabric and made to move the towels to one side. As he did so, a small, flat bottle fell out.

‘Ah, yes,’ Triwathon added. ‘Surprise.’

‘Oil from the yellowest flowers you could find… or from the seeds of them, yes?’

‘Yes. Again, I had to have help with this but… nobody knew what I wanted it for. Nobody knows why.’

‘Triwathon, I… I didn’t know you would be here, I have nothing for you…’

Triwathon smiled and opened his arms.

‘Yes, you have,’ he said.


	8. Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor warns Glorfindel that Elrond intends to apologise...

The morning light did, indeed, filter into Triwathon’s room, but the heavy curtains kept most of the glare at bay. Still, narrow striations of winter sunlight did sneak in around the edges of the fabric, laying long fingers of early gold across the bed.

Triwathon stirred, trying to shift limbs which were not his own to one side so that he could sit up and greet the day. A muffled, gentle grumble from somewhere inside a tangle of golden tresses told him his beloved friend was on the way to wakefulness, so he ceased all attempts to get out of bed and relaxed against the headboard, lightly stroking the strands of brighter-than-sunlight hair back from the handsome face with its strong, fine bones and generous mouth.

‘Are you awake in there, iphant-nin?’ he asked lightly.

‘No. Can’t possibly be awake, the love-of-my-second-life is cuddling me, has to be a dream… best dream ever…’ The leonine head lifted and the hyperblue eyes fixed on Triwathon’s face. ‘Well, it would be if it had some honey beer in it…’

Triwathon laughed as Glorfindel began to fight with the bedding, grumbling again.

‘Why ever did Elrond put you in here, narrow bed like this? It’s really not fair…’

‘Maybe he assumed I’d sleep in your bed.’

‘Or that we wouldn’t dare sleep together, more likely.’ Glorfindel sighed as he emerged from the blankets and pulled Triwathon’s back against his chest. ‘The irony is that he claims it’s because he’s old-fashioned… when he really has no idea of the meaning of the word ‘old’.’

‘Never mind about Elrond; I wanted to ask you something…’

‘Yes, yes, please, if you’re not too tender…’ Glorfindel said promptly, causing Triwathon to laugh again.

‘You do not know what I was about to ask yet…’

‘A fellow can hope, can’t he?’

Triwathon slid out of bed and crossed to the curtains.

‘Are we overlooked here, do you know?’

‘Shouldn’t be; there’s a few houses up and down the valley, those families who didn’t want to live in the main house, but so many folk have sailed that they’re mostly empty now. Anyway, if there were anyone looking in, you’re a very fine eyeful, Triwathon.’

‘Not so bad yourself, for such an iphant,’ he replied with a grin, pulling back one of the curtains to let light swamp the room. ‘It is a very fine day.’

He crossed back to the bed and sat on the edge, keeping out of arm’s reach, knowing that if he allowed Glorfindel to touch him he would lose all interest in talking.

His Honey Beer looked better today, he thought, less careworn than he had at their reunion, relaxed and comfortable, and somehow different. More golden. More perfect.

‘Last night, in the stables, I suggested we leave…’

‘I remember. You were going to ride me to a ship and wash your hands of me!’ Glorfindel said it lightly, with a toss of the head and a grin that showed he was joking.

‘And I was never more glad than when you declined! But I hated seeing you like that, so disrespected… how dare anyone criticise you, and in public, too? I do not know the ways of this house, but it seemed to me as if Lord Elrond does not properly know how blessed he is to have you here…’

‘Well, we have all had a hard war in one way or another, Triwathon. I think he has got used to having certain of us here – myself, Erestor, even Lindir’s been acting as chamberlain since before the Battle of the Five Armies… and when we deviate from the paths expected of us, it unsettles him. Besides, we won the battle for Middle Earth – but he’s lost his daughter…’

‘Arwen is dead?’

‘No – worse than that, in a way. She married the Ranger Aragorn, the mortal king… and will stay here, and die, and never sail. Elrond took it hard. So he’s a bit fractious, at times. That is not an attempt to excuse him, you understand – just to explain him. It doesn’t happen often that he embarrasses us in public, but we have a system in place for when he does. If he’s unkind to Lindir, Erestor snarls at him, if he’s overbearing with Erestor, I question him and Lindir sings satirical ballads for a night or two, and if he upsets me… well, Elrond fawns over me for weeks after Erestor has had a chat with him.’

‘I’m glad you have supporters.’ Triwathon shuffled forward a little on the bed, trying to find the way back to his as-yet unasked question, but it was no use; the moment had gone. ‘What do you want to do this morning?’ he asked instead, and, seeing Glorfindel’s bright and hopeful smile, added, ‘after that, I mean?’

‘Well, a bath with you would be nice. And then we should show up for breakfast in the Great hall. Sadly, no bathing rooms on this level, so you’ll have to come down to my room, or take your chances in the communal bathing room…’

‘Your room, if you like. Don’t forget to bring your new towels.’

‘Let’s do that first, then.’

Triwathon nodded and began seeking fresh clothes to take with him for the day.

‘Why don’t we just take all your things down to my room?’ Glorfindel suggested. ‘Elrond be damned, it’ll make things easier while you’re here… talking of which…?’

‘I am officially unfit for duty for the next two months. So I am yours for the next six weeks, at least.’

‘Lovely,’ Glorfindel said. ‘So, when would you like to move in?’

‘Perhaps after breakfast? One of the things the healers insisted to me was that I need to eat properly…’

‘Ai, of course, my beautiful!’ Glorfindel found his abandoned clothes from the previous night and slipped into them. ‘Just for walking through the house. This time of day, there’s too many chambermaids around, and we really don’t want to startle them…’

Triwathon smiled and himself dressed in yesterday’s clothes, gathering his fresh clothes over his arm and leaving the long robes in his wardrobe while Glorfindel almost casually picked up the two circlets from the table.

They met no-one on the way down to Glorfindel’s chambers, but when the seneschal pushed his door open, there was a shuffle of paper where a note had been pushed beneath.

‘From Erestor,’ Glorfindel said, picking up the message. ‘Ah. He’s insisting we show up in good time before the end of the breakfast sitting… so I am afraid we will have to pass up on the dawn delights and go straight to the bath…’

‘I think I can cope with waiting a little, after the night we had together…’

‘Not sure I can…’ Glorfindel huffed a sigh. 

‘Well, if we don’t linger, perhaps we can combine both?’

*

Of course, they lingered, and so were amongst the last down to breakfast.

‘Join us,’ Erestor said, pulling back a chair for Triwathon next to his own. ‘Glorfindel, sit with your friend, do not be shy, as you can see, I have my own friend next to me… I am sure Elrond will not object, especially as we will be joined by Elrohir and the warrior Rusdir – they are just fetching food for our little gathering… actually, I think it likely to be more than a little gathering… last night’s events led to considerable gossip amongst the company… and we have decided amongst ourselves, mellyn-nin, that while we understand an old-fashioned outlook, and accept that perhaps Rivendell has a reputation for dignity to maintain, we do not accept hypocrisy in its lord and we believe it is quite possible for two ellyn, or two ellith, to be just as dignified as any other couple.’

Elrohir arrived at that point, unloading a laden tray and grinning as he slid into a space at the table.

‘What’s more, Glorfindel,’ he said, ‘Erestor’s already told Adar as much… so we’ve decided to show our support. Everyone on this table is either like us, or thinks Elrond is unfair to those like us.’ 

He nodded along the table to where Lindir sat, a little distanced from one of the junior healers and a few of the knights of the household.

‘I’m touched, really,’ Glorfindel said. ‘But I don’t want to make things difficult for anyone.’

‘No, but neither should Elrond make things difficult for you and your guest,’ Erestor said. ‘We had a very interesting discussion, as a matter of fact.’

‘What did you threaten him with this time?’ Glorfindel asked, accepting breakfast from Elrohir and falling on the food as if he hadn’t eaten for a week. ‘No help with his filing? Leaving him to address the next Meeting of the Human Ladies’ Institute without the benefit of your speech writing talents?’

‘Oh, it was much simpler than that.’ Erestor glanced down and smoothed the sleeve of his robe. ‘I simply pointed out that Arveldir and I are taking vows at some point in the near future, and that we could either choose to settle in Rivendell… or Eryn Lasgalen…’ He glanced quickly across at Glorfindel and Triwathon. ‘And that you had a home waiting there too, mellon-nin, if you wanted it.’

‘I’m sure that went down well…’

‘He turned puce,’ Erestor said with dignified satisfaction. ‘In fact, his face was darker than that burgundy armour he favoured a few decades ago… well. Consider it my Yule gift to you.’

‘May we join you, Commander?’ Celeguel asked. She, and the rest of Triwathon’s escort, stood respectfully near, trays in hands. 

‘You’re welcome, of course,’ Triwathon said. ‘But I hear that this table is a clandestine meeting point for those who either support, or are engaged in, same-gender relationships…’

‘Yes, Commander. My new friend told us.’ She glanced at Elladan, lounging nearby. ‘As long as what we do brings us joy and does not bring sadness, we should be permitted to do it unhindered.’

‘Very well said, Captain,’ Lindir said from along the table. ‘For all my lord Elrond’s hall is steeped in tradition, we forget that some far older settlements not only acknowledged, but celebrated the unions of those in all the forms of gender-pairings…’

‘I was thinking of bringing that up myself, if I had to,’ Glorfindel said, covering Triwathon’s hand with his own for a moment. ‘Only it seemed disrespectful to you, dear friend…’

Triwathon shook his head.

‘No, why should it? I have a past of my own.’ His lips curved in a smile. ‘Perhaps not quite so much as you do, iphant-nin…’

This caused Elrohir to burst out laughing.

‘I’m not sure I can think of anyone else who does… oh, wait, Grand-naneth Galadriel, she goes right back…’

‘And I did have a little bit of a rest in the Halls of Mandos part way through,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Now, hush for a bit, let an old iphant and his penneth eat their breakfast in peace, will you?’

Elrohir struck up a conversation with Celeguel instead, and the mood around the table relaxed a little as everyone ate and drank. Triwathon leaned his shoulder against Glorfindel, and beneath the table, Glorfindel pressed his knee against Triwathon’s leg. Arveldir and Erestor, having finished eating, sat with their hands just touching in a delicate and restrained show of affection.

Presently, Erestor stirred and sat just a little straighter.

‘Elrond has just come in,’ he said quietly.

‘I know,’ Glorfindel said under his breath, continuing to eat. ‘So what happens next?’

‘If he values the peace of his hall, and my and your services, mellon-nin, he will publicly apologise to you.’

The hall fell silent as Elrond moved through it, and breakfasters at other tables looked across with curiosity. The Lord of Rivendell stopped across the table from Glorfindel and cleared his throat.

‘Good morning, mellon-nin. I hope you are feeling better today?’

Glorfindel looked up and inclined his head.

‘Yes, thanks to Triwathon.’ He smiled at his friend. ‘He stayed with me and made sure I was all right.’

‘I see. Well. I would like a word with you, Glorfindel…’

Glorfindel waited.

‘In my study?’ Elrond added hopefully.

‘I’m not finished here yet, my lord.’

‘When you are done, then, if you…’

Erestor cleared his throat and Elrond flinched, encountering his advisor’s steel-rich gaze. Elrond’s eyebrows drew together in annoyance, but the growth of a challenging smile on Erestor’s mouth was alarming, and hastened him into speech.

‘If you do not mind having this conversation in public, then, mellon-nin…?’

‘Why should Lord Glorfindel object?’ Erestor said. ‘After all, the conversation you had with him last night was far more public than this…’

‘Very well, then.’ Elrond shifted his shoulders uncomfortably before folding his hands together at his back. ‘Glorfindel, I owe you an apology… I may have said things last night which intimated you could be in a questionable relationship with…’

He didn’t have chance to finish. All the assembled Mirkwood warriors got to their feet, their seats clattering back and drawing all attention to them. Captain Celeguel had a hand on her knife hilts.

‘Do you seek to insult Commander Triwathon, my lord?’ she asked in tones of velvet venom.

‘Not at all, my concern is with my seneschal… simply put, in the sense that… not with whom, but… and it might have seemed… you must understand…’

‘I am not insulted, Captain, be at peace,’ Triwathon said. ‘In fact, I am pleased to be publicly linked with the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin; it is true, after all.’

‘I think the only one lacking understanding here is you, Elrond,’ Glorfindel said. ‘If you’re trying to apologise for spoiling what had been a fine evening, go ahead.’

‘For speaking abruptly to you in front of so many, for that I am sorry; it was perhaps an error in judgement,’ Elrond said. ‘You are my seneschal and my valued friend. But I cannot help how I feel on some matters…’

‘Neither can I,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Nor can my Triwathon, or Erestor, or, oh, look, Elrohir…’

‘In fact, everyone on this table has either an opinion, or a vested interest in the subject,’ Erestor said smoothly. ‘Now, far be it from me to tell you what to think, my lord…’

Glorfindel turned a snigger into a cough and Erestor glared briefly at him before continuing.

‘…and while I am the first to applaud discretion, there is a fine line between being discreet, and being furtive, and, my lord, you would do well to familiarise yourself with the difference. Besides which, it was particularly unfair of you to single out Glorfindel while others were also demonstrating their affections last evening – I will admit that I, too, behaved somewhat outrageously, and yet you did not call me to account…’

Elrond turned from Erestor without reply, his eyes on his younger son who was, somewhat provocatively, playing with Rusdir’s fingers.

‘Elrohir? Will you explain yourself?’

‘Oh, Adar, I would love to, but some people are still eating and it might put them off their breakfast…’

‘Thank you, Elrohir! I think I see.’ The Lord of Imladris surveyed the table, shaking his head. ‘Glorfindel, I have apologised for embarrassing you in public. As for the rest of you, I should like to remind you that simply being in the minority does not make one wrong.’

‘True,’ Erestor said. ‘Being mistake is what makes one wrong. Rigidly holding to an outmoded set of hypocritical opinions does not help, either. But I see you are convinced of your path.’ He turned to Arveldir at his side. ‘Mellon-nin, I would not expect you to leave the shelter of the valley today – and it is the Night of the Names tonight, I have not forgotten – but when you are ready, we can give thought to our journey home to Eryn Lasgalen, if you wish... Commander Triwathon, will you be ready to ride back across the mountains soon?’

‘Now, Erestor, do not be in such a hurry to throw away everything you have built here!’ Elrond said hastily. ‘You must see… it is not easy for a traditionalist such as I to discard my values just because it does not suit…’

‘Throw away your values?’ Erestor raised an eyebrow. ‘I am not the only one here who can remember when you seemed to have a different set of values…’

‘Enough, Erestor, enough!’ Elrond favoured his advisor with a glower. ‘I have no wish to lose your services, or your goodwill, mellon-nin… nor yours, Glorfindel, of course! Very well. We will agree to differ and I will try to be more tolerant.’

‘Fair will do,’ Erestor said. ‘I think we will settle for fair. Reprimand all of us, if you must, but do not make any one individual take the blame for all.’

‘Moving on,’ Elrond said, ‘I will need to speak to you presently, Erestor, concerning the Yule Feast this evening… might I have a little of your time, once you have finished here?’

‘Yes, I think I have an hour to spare… and there was that other matter I mentioned to you as well? I hope you have had time to consider?’

‘I have indeed. We will discuss it presently, then.’ Elrond’s eyes swept the table as if making note of who was with whom, who was there for moral support, who was sitting too close to their neighbour. ‘Good morning to you all.’


	9. Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel helps Triwathon move rooms...

After Elrond’s retreat, Glorfindel turned to Triwathon

‘So, my beautiful-fëa’d friend, if you’ve finished here why not gather up your things and we will move you in to my rooms, if that pleases you?’

Triwathon smiled.

‘Does that count as discreet?’

‘In my opinion, anything done where Elrond can’t see – or shouldn’t be looking – counts as discreet.’

‘Very well, then. I think that it will be easier if I do not have too many steps to negotiate, too, while I am recuperating…’

Along the table, Lindir stirred.

‘Then I must beg your pardon, Commander; I have been acting as Lord Elrond’s chamberlain, and he asked me to find a suitable room for a warrior of Eryn Lasgalen… I thought to look towards home would please you…’

‘It is a very fine view, Lindir, but, I must admit, I have not had eyes for much outside the room, not when my Glorfindel is visiting.’

‘Come on,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Before you make Lindir blush.’

As they were leaving, Erestor caught Triwathon’s eye.

‘Do not get too settled,’ he said. ‘There may be another surprise yet this day.’

Triwathon’s clothes were soon moved down into Glorfindel’s chamber, and space made for him in the wardrobe and chest of drawers. He smiled to see the new, blue towels had been carefully laid on a shelf in the wardrobe, far from the drawers where Glorfindel showed him those in common use were kept.

‘Along with the remnant of an earlier gift,’ he said, acknowledging the worn and faded towel. ‘Sometimes, I still use it; when I’ve been away, and need to feel I’m home again. Glorfindel the Sentimental, that’s me.’

‘Well, you have more, now.’ Triwathon smiled. ‘And that is everything; I am moved in.’

‘And we still have an hour before lunch… I wonder how we can fill the time?’

‘I have several things I wanted to talk to you about, if…’

‘Oh, I wasn’t thinking about talking…’

A knock at the door interrupted before Glorfindel could do any more than tilt his head towards Triwathon’s mouth. He sighed and called out.

‘Who is it?’

‘Erestor. Trust me, you will be glad you opened the door.’

Assuming that sharing Glorfindel’s rooms gave him the right to admit visitors, Triwathon obligingly let Erestor in; the advisor’s eyes held mischief, an expression that was out of place in his serious face.

‘I fear you and I will pay for this dearly at some future date, Glorfindel, but for the moment, I have for you something… for Triwathon really, shall we say…?’

‘I don’t care what we say, Erestor, if you will explain…?’

Erestor smiled as he crossed to the window and looked down into the valley.

‘Do you see those two villas along the valley?’

‘Yes? Very pretty view, I’ve seen it often enough…’

‘Look again with new eyes… proprietorial eyes, mellon-nin…’

He took a set of keys from inside his robe.

‘In exchange for an agreement to behave with considered propriety within Elrond’s house, he has given me a set of keys for one of those villas… and, on my vouchsafing the same good manners from you, a set for the other property. Officially, it is accommodation for our guests…’ Erestor gave Triwathon a small smile and handed him the bunch of keys. ‘These two particular properties are on the network of hot springs, so there are bathing rooms with hot pools. You may still take meals at the house, Commander, or you will find facilities for cooking and preparing your own.’

‘Thank you, Erestor. But it is Yule – will it not be making extra work for the staff?’

‘Well…’ Here Erestor looked a little self-conscious. ‘I have been anticipating adoption of one of these homes for some time, and so have been making my own preparations ahead of finding an opportunity of appropriating the keys… and so most of the work is done. And Elladan and Elrohir have offered to help move any additional items which might be required… would you like to inspect the property and see if it will suit?’

*

By the time dusk was settling into the valley, it looked as if the villa would suit very well indeed. A little bit of sweeping, and fussing, and removing of belongings from the main house down to the new villa, and Triwathon took a moment to look out over the valley.

‘Here you are, Glorfindel! You are standing on your very own veranda…’

‘With my arm around my very own special friend. Perfect. Almost the best Yule ever, but not quite.’ He looked back up at the main house. ‘Do you see that balcony, Triwathon? The one with the big window behind it, and all the fancy stonework?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s where Elrond likes to sit. Hope he’s not looking down into the valley, he might not like what he sees in a minute…’

‘You are such an exhibitionist! But I am afraid I am not. Come inside, spare Elrond’s blushes, and mine.’

Glorfindel allowed himself to be led back into the house and walked through the rooms, touching the walls, the doors, the furniture, as if not quite sure it was real.

‘I’ve been up at the main house for so long,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It’s always been, have to be near to the barracks in case of an attack, have to be easy to find… but it’s peacetime now. Oh, granted, we still ride out, and there are occasional orcs to clear up and a few displaced villains to deal with, but there’s no need for me to be under Elrond’s eye…’

‘So he could manage without you, if something better came up?’

‘Probably. It’s not likely, though. I begin to think I’m not an asset…’

Triwathon stared.

‘You are mistaken! I have an open invitation from my king for you to join us in Eryn Lasgalen…’

‘He wants the Balrog-slayer. They all want the Balrog-slayer…’

‘I don’t. And my king values you for other talents than your ability to kill things.’

‘Yes, I know when you look at me, you look into me, you see under the mantle of all my stories…’

‘I love your stories. You tell them so well, as if you hardly believe them yourself. Do you like the house?’

‘I do, yes… I like what it represents, what it will mean for us. And that I can get out from under Elrond’s feet for a while… it’s not too far from the house for you, is it? I was worried about you last night…’

‘And you strengthened me. No, I am generally fine, except when squeezed over-enthusiastically…’

‘Ai, I am sorry about that! But I was so pleased to see you, I had to make sure you were real…’ He put his arms around Triwathon and hugged him gently, a comforting, reassuring embrace that was simply friendly, affectionate. ‘This is your house, though. You heard Erestor; lodgings for our honoured guests. When… when you go back to Eryn Lasgalen, I’ll move back into the big house. You will have to leave, I take it? You couldn’t just… stay with me?’

‘Oh, mellon-nin!’ Triwathon rested his hands on Glorfindel’s shoulders. ‘My king would not make any of us stay in the forest, who wanted to leave. But Eryn Lasgalen is my home. There is work for me to do there; I have had invitations from two companies to join them, two! There is a garrison command waiting for me, should I wish it – a new outpost is to be established, and they want me – me! to lead them… and now we can begin to remake our world, Glorfindel, the spiders, once ousted, no longer will come back, we no longer have to simply fight and kill, we can build and protect…’

‘Sorry, beautiful, sorry, I didn’t think…’

‘But I would like to be with you, if I can. If it is possible… you could come back with me, perhaps, instead?’

The question hung in the air between them, full of possibility and portent. For a moment, Glorfindel envisaged himself riding away with the sun at his back and Triwathon at his side, towards a whole new life where he could be Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, sometime Balrog-slayer but not only that, Honey Beer, Laurefindil…

And it was so tempting, so enticing…

And he could not think of a single reason why not.

‘Can I think about it?’ he said. ‘I want to say yes… but I can’t quite believe I’d be allowed to go…’

‘Why, who would stop you? Who would dare to try?’ Triwathon smiled. ‘But I would not suggest a garrison town in the north of the woods for us together, not while there is another company that would have us. It is a new venture, for warrior pairings, and I have been informed that if I will join, I may name you as my lover and beloved, and we would serve in Ithilien, supporting a colony of Silvans there… we could join for as little as a season’s round, or for longer, if we chose…’

‘You know, I think I like the sound of that. Ithilien. A sort of gentle introduction to the forest…’

‘Yes, not so uncouth and wild as we were in Mirkwood.’

‘Oh, but I love it when you’re my wild wood elf… Tell me more about this Ithilien thing, would that be a command for you?’

Triwathon shook his head.

‘A captaincy, to begin. They cannot offer me more, since I need to bring a warrior with me, and they have vowed couples who are keen to join them…’

‘But you could have a command in your own forest...’

‘If it meant I could have a Honey Beer each night, I’d settle for being in the ranks.’

‘Triwathon...?’ Glorfindel looked into his friend’s eyes, seeing something else there. ‘Why would you not take up the command if I were with you? I wouldn’t mind if you ranked above me, you know...’

‘It isn’t that.’ Triwathon smiled and gently eased out of the hug, finding a seat in a chair near the window and lowering himself into it, looking out into the valley rather than at Glorfindel. ‘But there is someone working at the new outpost, whose fëa might be hurt if I were there with a lover.’

‘I don’t understand...’

‘It is, perhaps, foolish of me. But...’

‘There were no promises between us, Triwathon, in fact, I remember telling you, if you found someone...’

‘No.’ Triwathon shook his head. ‘I didn’t look for anyone, I was not at all interested in seeking another, Laurefindil, you were and are who I wanted... say, rather, someone found me. And although he knows I care for you, he maintains he has feelings for me... I can work in the same garrison as he without it worrying me – he cannot help it, I know, and he has no expectations, but...’

‘But if you turned up with your lover on your arm, it might upset him a bit. You’re really very thoughtful, do you know that?’

‘I would not want to cause anyone heartache, I know its sting. If I could have him not be so attracted to me, I would... but all I can do is treat him with such dignity and respect as I can and hope he finds someone else soon.’ Triwathon looked up with a smile. ‘In any case, I am not fit for duty yet, I need give no answer to either invitation until I am properly back to health.’

‘In that case, you need to get plenty of rest to build your strength up.’ Glorfindel smiled and reached out a hand. ‘Fancy seeing how comfortable the new bed is?’


	10. Observances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Triwathon leads the public observances on the Night of the Names...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the events referred to in this chapter are references to events in another work. But you do not need to have read that in order to read and understand this chapter.

Given free rein by Elrond to organise the Yule Night feast with proper respect to the Silvan Night of the Names, Erestor collaborated with Arveldir to arrange the table as would be most befitting for the occasion, although the result was hardly distinguishable from its usual appearance.

‘So what, exactly...?’ Elrond asked, arriving for a briefing an hour before the meal was due to be set.

‘The place of honour, to your right, is set as usual, but is left empty, and no food is served. It represents all those who have died and cannot join the feast.’

‘But the dead are in the Halls of Mandos...’

‘It is a Silvan thing, my lord,’ Erestor said. ‘Complicated and private. Tonight is not a night for metaphysical debate, but for the names of the dead to be spoken freely again. The place of honour is a reminder that those lost once broke bread amongst the living.’

‘But that is...’ Elrond broke off, aware of Arveldir, adjusting the empty setting with delicate precision, and where he could hear every word that was passing. ‘...not something I have come across before. And is there a specific way of introducing the topic or...?’

‘With your permission, we will invite Commander Triwathon to announce the observances. He is the choice of all the warriors, including Captain Celeguel. All our Silvan guests must sit at the high table tonight, of course,’ Erestor said.

‘...Of course,’ Elrond agreed.

‘And after the meal, my lord, I thought we might set aside an area in the Hall of Fire for the rest of the observances.’

‘But... is not the meal...?’

‘At home, my lord,’ Arveldir said, smoothly inserting himself in front of Elrond, ‘there is a middle-day Yule feast. People gather after dusk for the observances, in families or small groups. After a short remembrance, they eat together with their empty place-setting, and later they talk of their lost ones. Warriors meet in the barracks for public observances, the Hall of Feasting is made available, the king addresses those gathered to announce the Night of Names before retiring to his own private commemorations. Generally, the evening meal has a different, less festive air to it. More solemn, perhaps, but joyous, too.’

‘I see,’ Elrond said, having decided Silvan mysticism was far too strange for his taste. ‘Very well, order it as you wish. What about music and song in the Hall of Fire? Will that be an intrusion?’

‘I think it will be acceptable,’ Arveldir said. ‘If we allocate an area away from the musicians... and we will treat it as a public observance, so any from Rivendell who are interested may attend; private observances can take place in private rooms.’

‘Very well... you might tell Lindir he had better not play too loud tonight, or pick any of those light, cheerful songs he will inflict on us from time to time...’

‘Very well, my lord,’ Erestor said, bowing as Elrond left.

‘Although, we do not mind happy music,’ Arveldir told Erestor ‘Our Night of Names is primarily a celebration.’

‘I understand. But I will paraphrase Elrond’s orders and give Lindir the night off; he is always called on to play, or sing, and he never has the chance to refuse. Shall we look to the Hall of Fire, next?'

‘And select the most suitable area for our remembrances? Indeed. And then we had better send word to Commander Triwathon that he is to preside... although, he may expect it to be my duty, and knowing how self-effacing he can be, I had better go myself, so that he knows I am not offended.’

*

‘I?’ Triwathon queried. ‘I, to invite the gathering to the Night of the Names? I am honoured... But... my lord Arveldir...?’

He glanced into the faces of the deputation on his veranda; Captain Celeguel, smiling. At her side, Rusdir, and Amaleth, the other elleth in the guard, their eyes serious. Arveldir, his hands folded together, nodded gravely. 

‘Triwathon, it is the considered opinion of us all that you should preside.’

‘I hope there is enough time for you to prepare,’ Celeguel said. ‘We had looked for you in the main house... we did not realise you had moved, or we would have sought you much earlier.’

‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t find him, then!’ Glorfindel said, throwing an easy arm around Triwathon’s shoulders. ‘We’ve been busy... moving in...’

Celeguel dipped her head to hide a smile.

‘Will we see you in the hall soon, Commander?’ she asked.

‘I will look out my uniform and join you presently, Captain. And my thanks, once more, for this great honour.’

Celeguel bowed.

‘Until later, then.’

Inside, Triwathon went in search of his uniform tunic; it was still travel-stained, a little worn, but, with so many recently-dead warriors, it was the right thing to wear. He shook it out and slipped it on over his shirt. 

‘I hope you’re going to wear the circlet with that?’ Glorfindel asked, leaning against the door frame and grinning.

‘I hadn’t intended to.’ Triwathon glanced at his friend with a tentative smile, trying to judge if he was joking or not. ‘To lead the public observance... to represent the Kingdom of Eryn Lasgalen... it might not be proper...’

‘Joking,’ Glorfindel said, crossing to put his arms round the younger elf. ‘I think I still have my official uniform kilt somewhere...’

Triwathon considered for a moment. 

‘That would certainly give Lord Elrond something to think about. Although you would utterly distract me...’

‘Then maybe I’d better not change. It will only delay us. But when we come back here, after...’

‘Then I’ll wear the circlet, if you like. Anything you like.’

‘That’s very accommodating of you... You in my circlet and that heart-stopping smile of yours, me in my kilt... looking forward to it already...’ He slipped his arm around Triwathon. ‘Come, then. Don’t want to make you late... so, you have to introduce the Night of Names...?’

‘Indeed. Properly, Lord Arveldir should do it, or Captain Celeguel... at home, it is the king, of course... so... I do not know what I will say!’

‘I’m sure you’ll think of something.’

Triwathon nodded, doubting he would be able to do justice to the honour accorded him. But by the time he had reached the table and taken his place, an idea had come to him, and he took his seat to wait while the table filled feeling much less awkward.

Around him were gathered the warriors of his escort guard, Celeguel to his left. Space had been made for Glorfindel at his right, and the golden-haired warrior gleamed and shone amongst the darker, auburn-haired Silvans, reminding Triwathon of a shaft of sunlight hitting the forest floor in autumn. Amongst the warriors, he spotted Elladan and Elrohir, and wondered briefly what Lord Elrond would make of that, particularly Elrohir who was obviously on very good terms with Lieutenant Rusdir...

Erestor got to his feet, signalling the rest of the table to rise for Elrond’s arrival. The Lord of Imladris took his place, his eyes sweeping the table. It was looking very unbalanced, with his sons seated amongst the Silvans; still, it would not be conducive to a pleasant evening if he called them, unwilling, to his side...

He took his seat and nodded to Erestor, who beckoned the servants forward to serve the wine, and gestured everyone to sit.

‘There will be a small announcement by our guests from Eryn Lasgalen before we begin our Yule feast,’ he said. ‘Here is Commander Triwathon, who will speak to us about the significance of this night for our visitors.’

Triwathon got to his feet, glancing around the hall. Although he had been told that many of Elrond’s people had left for the Havens in recent months, it still seemed a large gathering. For a moment his nerve failed, but Glorfindel caught his eye and winked, and that was enough for him to start.

‘My lord Elrond, you honour us by permitting our remembrances tonight; we are grateful.’ He glanced around, saw everyone’s attention on him, and swallowed. ‘It is the Night of the Names, the one night of the year when we gather like this to say the names of our honoured dead, our lost loved ones. The longest night, when the stars glitter like jewelled tears in the skies. Far away, across the mountains, our friends and family in Eryn Lasgalen will be gathering to do as we do. In the barracks, in their homes, in the Hall of Feasting, they will meet, and talk. Some will find it distressing, and so, I say to you, as our king will be saying, do not be alone tonight! Find a friend, a gathering, lest the pain be too much. Share it, and share the goodness of the memories. May the observances bring you only joy.’

He paused for a moment. It was time, now, for him to select the name of one of their dead, to speak the formal phrase that opened their hearts and freed their mouths to talk, and it had to be right. But so many had died of late, and to bring a recent death to the feast would bring only pain...

There was wine in his goblet, a pale golden liquid that was not at all fitting; it should be Dorwinion, such as the king would have served, such as Thranduil would lift in tribute.

‘My friends,’ he said. ‘I do not know who to bring before you for your memories. But I know what my king would do, and so, like King Thranduil will ask our kin far away, do I ask you, do you remember Baralinith?’

He raised his goblet in salute before continuing for the benefit of any there who didn’t recognise the name.

‘Baralinith was the mother of princes, the consort of King Thranduil. She would never be his queen, only his beloved friend.’

‘I remember Baralinith,’ Arveldir said, raising his own goblet. ‘Whenever Thranduil was being... difficult, she could usually find a way to persuade him.’

‘I remember Baralinith,’ Amathel said, tipping her wine in salute. ‘She was one of the elk-tamers before she met the king, and she spoke kindly to me, when I was very young. I asked her about gentling a fox I had found. She told me that if you want to tame a wild thing, you must first tame yourself. And then she tugged my braids and said my hair would be a good place to start.’

‘I wonder why she would not be our queen?’ another said, and Arveldir answered that Oropher had not approved of her, and it was to win him round that she said she did not want the crown, and Triwathon’s job was done. 

‘I remember Baralinith,’ Elrond said. ‘By repute; I was not fortunate enough to meet her. The news of her death saddened us.’ He raised his wine glass. ‘To Baralinith, who was not queen, but who was dear to her people.’

The toast was taken up, the food served, and Triwathon took his seat. To his surprise he found he was shaking.

Celeguel laid her hand on his arm.

‘Well done, Commander! That was truly inspired... we all have memories of Baralinith, or have heard stories of her. Thank you!’

‘I’m glad I didn’t let you down, Captain.’

‘It would have been too easy to bring a name which still has sadness attached to it... but look, they are all smiling, and talking, and it is a happy remembrance. We will have to talk over our warriors later, but this is just the right frame of mind to begin.’

‘Did someone say ‘begin’?’ Glorfindel asked, leaning forward. ‘Does that mean I can eat my dinner now?’

*

Elrond allowed the visitors to lead the conversation, interested in how the visitors worked in stories of their lost ones to the talk, anecdotes, not maudlin recollections. He found Arveldir looking at him with a curious smile on his face.

‘It is interesting, is it not, my lord?’ he asked. ‘With all our recent losses, we can still focus on a tale of how a long-dead warrior made another laugh.’

‘It is indeed. I am sorry I do not know more about your Silvans; I cannot join in...’

‘But it does not have to be about us. You have your own dead, surely?’

‘Of course I do, but they are not Silvans...’  
‘Perhaps you misunderstood, my lord. Tonight is not about the dead. It is about the living. Feel free to share, if you wish; Lord Glorfindel, as you can probably hear, is about to tell us all the reason why his friend Ecthelion was called the Lord of the Fountains...’

*

After the meal was ended, Elrond rose to his feet and let the way through to the Hall of Fire. After a few moments exchanging pleasantries with some of his household, he looked at the waiting harp, wondering why Lindir had not gone to the instrument yet. 

‘Erestor? Where is Lindir?’ he asked, interrupting his advisor’s conversation with Arveldir.

‘I passed on your message, my lord, telling him you did not need him to play tonight; he was very grateful for your kindness in giving him the evening to himself.’

‘But that was not what I meant... Well, I will ask someone else, then.’

‘Good,’ Erestor said, once Elrond had gone. ‘May I join you with your Silvan kin, Arveldir?’

‘Please do; any who wish to share tales of their lost ones are welcome... Elladan and Elrohir are there already, do you see? And Glorfindel, of course.’

‘Of course. Has he been ill? Certainly, he looks better today...’

‘I think he was simply lonely.’ Erestor glanced up at his friend. ‘As was I, until you came. I will not let so long pass again without you.’

‘I am pleased to hear it. My king is willing to let me leave his service – I have an apprenticed nicely trained now – but I would need a little time to hand over...’

‘You would do so for me? I am grateful indeed! For I am not sure Elrond would be happy to part with my services, especially when I wonder if Glorfindel will decide to leave...’

‘They do seem very happy together,’ Arveldir acknowledged, looking at where Triwathon and his Balrog-slayer were seated. ‘And I think Glorfindel is helping Triwathon’s recovery as much as Triwathon his.’

They found their way to the table at the rear of the hall which had been set aside. Elladan and Elrohir were there, and Lindir, sitting on the edge of the group and reminding Erestor rather of a maiden aunt who always went to parties when invited, but never knew what to do when she got there.

‘Lindir,’ he said, taking a seat near the minstrel. ‘Have you come to learn more about our friends from Eryn Lasgalen?’

‘Indeed, as I do not have to play tonight... if I am not an intrusion...’

‘Of course you are not!’ Celeguel said firmly. ‘We remember the Battle of the Three Dragons, when you sang our dead to their rest for us.’

‘I remember. I did not know any of them, but their names stayed with me. Tegolon. Harnor, Mithanor, Tornir. Maedon.’

‘Meadon was my closest friend,’ Triwathon said, smiling. He ran his finger around the rim of his goblet and stared into his depths as he spoke. ‘He was a fine shot, and taught me, in fact. But he had never wanted to be in the guard, at first. He was suspected of poaching, and told to put his talents to better use, or suffer the consequences. It was a happy chance for me that he became an archery tutor.’

‘Commander, I am sorry, I...’

‘No, Lindir. That is what tonight is for, so we can share our memories. I miss Maedon, but less than I did. And to speak of him, that is solace, and comfort.’

‘I knew Tornir,’ Rusdir said. ‘He was a good fellow in a tight corner. Thank you for his song, Master Lindir. You lifted many hearts that night.’

They talked on amongst themselves, discussing long-dead warriors. Finally, Celeguel sighed.

‘But we have recent losses, too, and I am unsure of the fate of some of my friends. Word from the southern fights didn’t reach us...’

‘I have questions of my own,’ Triwathon said. ‘They posted lists, but I was unconscious through most of them...’

‘Lists?’ Glorfindel asked.

‘Yes; the names of the dead are posted in the barracks and at the palace for a moon’s round...’

‘I could have written your name?’

‘It is only speaking that is discouraged.’

‘Ai, now he tells me!’

‘Tell me, then,’ Triwathon said. ‘What of Commander Govon?’

‘We can talk about him any time,’ Celeguel said. ‘Likewise Hador and Tinuon. But we lost sight of Thiriston...’

‘He and Canadion were with me in the southern forest. Both came through more or less unscathed,’ Triwathon said. ‘What of Over-Captain Rawon?’

Celeguel slumped and it was left to Amathel to reply. 

‘I remember Over-Captain Rawon.’ She tried to smile. ‘He fought bravely, he died quickly in the Battle Under the Trees. But we miss him.’

‘I am sorry to hear it. Rawon was stern, but you knew where you stood with him. He was always fair, often clever, and liked to laugh, when he could.’

‘I remember Rawon, too,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Wasn’t afraid to be in charge of his own barracks. A good fellow.’

‘What of Fonor?’ Celeguel asked. ‘His brother Parvon asked me to seek word...’

Triwathon sighed, but before he could answer, Arveldir spoke.

‘I am sorry, Fonor is dead. I was going to break the news to Parvon myself when we got back; he was still in the north of the forest when we came away.’ 

Glorfindel came alert.

‘Parvon! I know that name...’

Triwathon smiled. 

‘Our first Yule together, it was Fonor brought me word you had arrived.’

‘Yes... and I remember Parvon looking at you as if you were a forbidden delicacy...’

‘Never mind Parvon; he is alive, Fonor is not. I liked him. Was there any word of Dimaethor?’

‘No, we have not heard; I think she is missing, still.’ Rusdir said. ‘But what of Faenon...?’

And so it went on for a good hour, the warriors catching up with news of dead comrades until finally Celeguel pushed back her chair and got to her feet, wine goblet in hand.

‘That’s enough, now!’ she said. ‘We are talking too much of death, and not enough of our lost loved ones. I remember Coruven, who was my love and my friend, and who died in the Battle of the Five Armies. He was...’ She sat back down and gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘Nice. And I miss him. But I no longer grieve, and that is good.’

‘I hope all is going well for you, Captain?’ 

Elrond came up and stood with his hands behind his back, smiling and trying to ignore the fact that Arveldir had his hand on Erestor’s thigh and Erestor was not only allowing, but apparently enjoying the contact.

‘Yes, my lord, thank you. We are talking about our friends from former times. Is there anyone whose name you would share with us tonight?’

‘Well, it is hardly... he was not Silvan... but... yes. Gil-Galad, the last of the High Kings of the Noldor. I was his herald and he was...’ Elrond’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Magnificent...’

A silence fell at this and after a moment, Elrond gave a little start as if he had been lost in the past.

‘Well, enjoy your evening,’ he said. ‘I will be walking in the gardens, Erestor, should you need me again tonight.’

Elladan raised his eyebrows at his father’s retreating back. ‘Magnificent, is it?’ he said. ‘The old hypocrite!’

‘I remember my brother,’ Erestor said quickly. ‘It was very unfortunate, he died as an elfling. But at times, I feel he is still close to me. His name was Eldir... I remember, he used to like climbing in the trees near where we lived... so high, he would climb, and our poor Naneth calling him home for hours...’

‘Why do we not speak of our lost ones more, Erestor?’ Lindir asked. ‘It seems wrong to me now, seeing how much value is placed on this night... if I could only speak of my dead once a year, I am sure I would do so, but I cannot remember the last time I talked of my loved ones...’

‘I do not know. Perhaps because they are not Silvan, and we are sure we will see them again. Perhaps because we do not wish to be seen to be dwelling in the past... which is ironical, considering the amount of time we spend in this house thinking of our history and listening to stories of long ago... But you are right, Lindir. We should value our opportunities more.’

‘My Naneth,’ Lindir said abruptly. ‘Her name was Ningannel, and she had the most beautiful hands. She taught me the harp, so when I play, I think of her, often, and... I do not forget, I just do not speak of her, but... I...’

The minstrel turned his face away, emotion catching up with him. Celeguel laid her hand on his arm and Amathel slid along the seating to put her arm around him.

‘I... I am sorry...’ Lindir managed.

‘Do not be!’ Celeguel said. ‘Later, in our private observances, many of us will weep, and find solace. But it is hard, the first time, to share.’

Lindir’s shoulders shook, and Amathel drew him close, pulling his head against her, stroking his hair.

‘Come, let me take you away from the crowds,’ she suggested. ‘You should not be alone tonight; I will bear you company until you feel better, if I may?’

He nodded against her shoulder, and she got to her feet to lead him away.

‘Good... goodnight,’ he managed.

‘Goodnight, Lindir,’ Erestor said. ‘Be well.’

‘I will take care of him,’ Amathel said, putting her arm around Lindir’s waist. ‘Where to, mellon-nin?’

As she led him from the hall, she glanced back over her should, flashing Celeguel a blinding grin.

‘Well, I am sure Lindir will find solace and joy in his observances tonight,’ the Captain said. ‘And, if you will excuse me, I think it is time for my own private reflections.’

‘Of course, you shouldn’t be alone...’ Elladan said. ‘May I walk you to your quarters?’

‘I have a better idea. Walk me to yours.’

‘What do you think, Triwathon? Time to go home for more scurrilous stories of Ecthelion and Maedon?’

‘Yes, I think so. Goodnight, mellyn-nin. Thank you again for inviting me to lead the observances.’


	11. Best Yule Ever...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the Night of the Names, Glorfindel wakes up content...

Glorfindel came out of reverie to find he couldn’t move. Didn’t want to, anyway, he was warm and comfortable and snug, and there was another body wrapped around his in the best cuddle ever, all long limbs and soft skin and fragrant warmth.

He smiled as he came more awake, aware now of the little details that completed his sense of happiness; the arms around him were Triwathon’s arms, Triwathon of the beautiful fëa and generous spirit, Triwathon who when they first met had so nearly been broken, but who had allowed Glorfindel to save him and so had in turn saved the Balrog-slayer.

And to cap it all, Triwathon had turned up on Yule Eve and saved Glorfindel all over again.

What could you do to repay a debt like that?

Last night had been amazing. 

After they had left the little enclave of Silvans in the Hall of Fire, they had walked slowly home through the valley. The sky had been punctuated with stars so bright you could have strung them up and made a necklace for Varda... and Triwathon had explained how, if you were Silvan and away from home and couldn’t get to the Starlight Gemstone that represented your lost ones, you could pick a star, instead, to meditate on. 

Somehow moved by this, Glorfindel had started talking, about his parents, the horror of the fall of Gondolin, the friends, the casual acquaintances who had died, he remembered them all, named them all.

‘What of lately, Laurefindil-nin?’ Triwathon had asked, once Glorfindel had purged himself of all the faces. ‘Did you lose anyone close in the War of the Ring?’

‘Triwathon, my lovely, there hasn’t been anyone close. Only you.’ He had sighed. ‘No, we were lucky, I suppose. The valley is hard to get into, unless you know the way, unless it welcomes you. I followed my orders and kept the house safe, rode down to Gondor after for the wedding as part of the escort, saw too much evidence of war in other lands and felt guilty for hiding at home... rode back again and fell into a bit of a slump.’

He’d made light of it, of course, as he’d always done when the past had been too much and he’d tottered on the edge of despair. But Triwathon’s arrival had only just been in time, he had been on the brink...

Well, he wasn’t there now. Now he had the comfort of these affectionate limbs around him. Now he’d been reminded who he was, more than just the Balrog-slayer.

He wouldn’t forget again.

A whimper at his back as Triwathon stirred against him and Glorfindel felt a jolt of desire rouse up the bits of him that had still been drifting. He became aware that something was digging into the side of his face, and he extricated an arm from the tangle of limbs and prodded cautiously at his head.

Oh.

He’d fallen into reverie still wearing his circlet.

Come to think of it, he just about remembered coming to bed wearing it... but that had been a long time before reverie had taken him; well, there was a good reason for that, he recalled, as Triwathon cuddled closer, murmuring in the last of his sleep as his body started to come awake.

Glorfindel pulled the circlet off and dropped it on the table at the side of the bed, wriggling and turning so that he was on his back and could pull Triwathon across him to fold the fragile body in his arms. He felt a moment’s horror as he remembered that Triwathon had nearly died, that this reunion might never have happened, and as his friend blinked sleepy eyes and smiled at him, Glorfindel had to swallow hard to get rid of the lump in his throat.

‘Good morning, Triwathon of the beautiful fëa,’ he said. ‘Thank you for a wonderful Yule.’

Triwathon pushed himself up so that he could reach to place a gentle kiss on eager lips.

‘Good morning hir-nin, iphant-nin, Laurefindil Honey-Beer,’ he said. ‘It was the best Yule ever.’

‘Not quite, penneth-nin... the first we shared... that was the best...’

‘But not for me. I did not think I would live to see this Yule. I thought I would die without seeing you again.’

_Oh, Triwathon..._

‘The Halls of Mandos aren’t so bad,’ Glorfindel said quickly, in case he got upset. ‘Dying’s easy, anyway. It’s living that’s the hard bit. Talking of hard bits, any chance of a kiss or two before we get ready for the day...?’ 

* 

They walked up to the main house for breakfast – Triwathon wanted to be sure his escort were well after their observances, and after receiving Celeguel’s assurances that it had been a wonderful Night of the Names indeed, had settled to the meal with enjoyment. 

It was indeed a happy gathering. Erestor and Arveldir sat with gentle smiles and decorum, Elladan and Elrohir spent too much time grinning and taking advantage of the fact that their father wasn’t present to sit very close to their friends in the guard, while Lindir and Amathel arrived late, and entered the hall by different doors. It came as no surprise, however, when they took seats together. 

‘You’re looking very relaxed today, Lindir,’ Glorfindel said with a grin. 

‘Indeed, I am very grateful that Lord Erestor procured me a night when I did not have to play; and I was most interested in the observances of our Silvan friends.' 

‘It seems to be that our musicians and singers are constantly asked for stories, Lindir, but only those of other people,’ Erestor said kindly. ‘It is well to remember you have stories of your own, from time to time.’ He set his cutlery down neatly on his empty plate. ‘Regrettably, I have a meeting this morning. Glorfindel, I believe Lord Elrond wanted to see us in his study as soon as we’ve finished here?’ 

‘It’s the first I’ve heard about it,’ Glorfindel said. ‘And I’m in no hurry to move. But you’re ready, I see...’ 

Erestor tilted his head to look at the seneschal. 

‘It is not that I would mind preceding you, but I gathered he wished to speak to us both together...’ 

‘He’s going to be disappointed then, isn’t he?’ Glorfindel said with a grin. 

The advisor gave a small smile. 

‘I am content to linger for a while yet, I suppose. Our lord can always come looking for us, if he is in a hurry.’ 

Instead, Elrond sent his housekeeper, Mistress Laindis to seek them. She stopped some way from Glorfindel and addressed herself solely to Erestor. 

‘Your pardon, my lord, but Lord Elrond wondered whether you and Lord Glorfindel had got his message about meeting him in his study?’ 

‘Thank you, Laindis. I believe he said ‘after breakfast’, which we have not quite finished yet.’ 

_Laindis glanced at Erestor’s empty plate in silence._

‘As for me, no, I didn’t get a message,’ Glorfindel said. ‘But we had better get it over with. Triwathon, don’t hurry away anywhere; I’ll come back for you.' 

He pushed back his chair and waited for Erestor before swaggering off towards Elrond’s study, stepping back for the advisor to knock and enter first. 

‘Ah, good, finally... I was beginning to wonder...’ 

‘By some chance, Elrond, Glorfindel wasn’t made aware you wanted to see us...’ 

‘Well, never mind that now. Sit, both of you... Erestor, I know you spoke recently to me about taking vows with Arveldir of Eryn Lasgalen in the near future, but it’s come to my attention that you intend to become formally betrothed to him... you did not think to consult me?’ 

‘Well, no, my lord. We know our own hearts, after all; the matter did not require consultation.’ 

‘You know it is my intention to sail in the near future; could you not have waited?’ 

‘Frankly, Elrond, no; Arveldir has been patient for long enough and knowing he was injured in the fighting brought it home to me how nearly I could have lost him. He has told me he is willing to move to Imladris, if he must, so that you do not need to fear I will abandon my duties... and I am not entirely sure how appropriate it is for you to bring this matter up in front of another, even though Glorfindel is my friend...’ 

‘At the very least, I would have expected you to tell me of your intentions, Erestor, so that it did not come as such a surprise...’ 

‘My lord, I have been wearing Arveldir’s betrothal ring for more than two centuries now; I hardly thing you should have been surprised, in all truth.’ 

‘What surprises me is that you mean to make so formal a step as a betrothal, many couples, even proper ones, simply make their vows in private these days. After all, if Eru Ilúvatar is properly called on, that is all that matters, surely?’ 

‘Is that what you think, my lord?’ Erestor asked quietly. ‘That I would take vows in furtive secret? As if we were ashamed? No, indeed; there will be a formal announcement of our betrothal before we leave...’ 

‘Before you leave...?’ 

‘The avowing ceremony itself will take place in Eryn Lasgalen; the Silvan way is very special, very beautiful. I will honour my friend’s traditions; it is small recompense for his centuries of patient loyalty.’ 

‘You will come back?’ 

‘Once we are properly vowed, yes.’ 

‘Very well, if you are determined, I do not see how I can stop you...’ 

‘Indeed, I cannot see why you should feel you have to,’ Erestor said. 

‘Moving on...’ Elrond retreated into a change of subject. ‘Glorfindel, how long are our guests going to be with us? Your friend – and Erestor’s – are very welcome, but they did arrive attended by six guards, one captain and nine horses and I want to be sure our resources will stretch.' 

‘I’ve no idea at the moment; it’s a long ride just for a day or two’s stay, though...’ 

‘Perhaps. But as my seneschal, you ought to know these things. Make sure I have the information by tonight.’ 

‘As you wish. Triwathon has to be back in Eryn Lasgalen before New Year, if that helps...' 

‘Hardly. And I want you to ride the near boundaries today; we need to keep up our standards even if it is Yuletide.’ 

‘All right, I’ll get right onto that. Should be back by mid-afternoon, that way.' 

‘I there anything else, my lord?’ Erestor asked. ‘Because I do have work in the library today. He glanced at Glorfindel with humour in his eyes. ‘Even if it is Yuletide. 

‘No, that’s everything for the moment. You can go.’ 

They went. 

‘Ride the boundaries, Glorfindel, don’t get betrothed until I’m not here to see it, Erestor, how many warriors are we feeding, how long?’Glorfindel muttered as they returned to the breakfast hall. ‘Really, sometimes I wonder why we stay...' 

‘Here is a thought; we do not have to.' 

‘Erestor! You rebel, you!’ 

‘It is something to consider... to ride to Eryn Lasgalen and simply not ride back... although I would not mention it to our lord quite yet; it is a threat so dire we should save it for extremity.’ 

Back in the dining hall Glorfindel took his place next to Triwathon with a smile. 

‘Do you fancy coming riding today? You and any of your escort who’d like to join us? I need to check the inner boundaries today; it won’t take long, a few hours at most, and there’s a nice little tavern about half-way round...’ 

‘Why don’t we all ride out?’ Elrohir suggested. ‘We can show our Silvan friends some of the sights. Glorfindel, we could split into two groups, take half the circuit each and meet at the tavern? It would share the work and we’d have a shorter ride home.’ 

Elladan grinned. 

‘And that would give us longer in the tavern, too.’ 

‘Not a bad idea,’ Glorfindel agreed. ‘Meet at the stables in half an hour.' 

‘Mellon-nin?’ Erestor turned to Arveldir. ‘Will you ride out with the rest, or would you prefer the quiet of the library? I have work there today, but you could bear me company?’ 

‘The library, I think. It will suit my mood.’ 

* 

It was an easy day, bright and sunny, crisp and cold, the horses fresh and eager for exercise. Triwathon rode alongside Glorfindel, Celeguel and Elladan behind them and a few of the house knights making up the rear of the party. 

The near boundaries trail began about half a mile from the main house, and made a circuit of the inner trails around the valley. The terrain was rugged, the views splendid, and there was much to show and to admire. 

‘It is very open,’ Celeguel said. ‘And however beautiful, I am not used to having so much sky above; I am too used to the cover of the forest.’ 

‘Darkness and gloom!’ Elladan said. ‘It’s no wonder you Silvans are so pale!’ 

‘But it is not dark and gloomy at all,’ Celeguel argued. ‘The light is soft and green and gentle. Sunlight drifts down, it does not bite and glare at you. And parts of the forest, now, are sadly too open to the skies. So many trees burned! Still, it makes way for fresh growth, our king says.’ 

‘You’ll rebuild?’ Elladan asked. 

The look he got from Celeguel was affectionately contemptuous. 

‘It is a forest. It will regrow, and we will help it. But we are restructuring, moving our centre of governance elsewhere... establishing a new settlement with an eye to the future. Exciting times ahead, as long as one does not mind change. It is beginning to be said that our Lord Arveldir will resign his post; he has been training a replacement, Parvon, whose brother we spoke of last night.’ 

Glorfindel felt, rather than saw Triwathon briefly glance across at mention of the name and something clicked into place; Triwathon was considering a post to a garrison town where there was someone who liked him... it was reasonable to assume that particular someone to be Parvon, whose attraction to Triwathon seemed to have lasted a very long time with no encouragement... 

He smiled across. 

‘Hope the ride’s not been too tiring for you?’ 

Triwathon shook his head. 

‘No, I am fine. It is just... I... I did not quite... was not quite entirely...’ 

‘You didn’t tell me everything about your northern posting. It’s all right, you know; in a way, I’m glad to hear Parvon is the one you’ll be working with...’ 

‘Really? That is, Laurefindil...’ 

‘Really, I am. It means you just have the one Eryn Lasgalenian admirer, rather than two... and at least he’s consistent...’ 

‘Hir-nin, I did not ever encourage him...’ 

‘Penneth-nin, you should know I know you wouldn’t, haven’t, didn’t.’ 

‘But I should have said it was he I would be working with if I accept the posting... except, I thought if you recalled the name it might make it uncomfortable for you, and... it seems to have made it worse...' 

‘No, not for me.’ Glorfindel reached out to cover Triwathon’s hand for a moment and gave his fingers a friendly squeeze. ‘Because if Arveldir thinks highly enough of this fellow to train him to take over, he must be clever, and loyal. And if he’s still in love with you after so long, then he’s sincere and constant.’ 

‘Besides, it is not as if I have to decide immediately, I need to be formally fit for duty before I can accept any posting... and there is always Ithilien,’ Triwathon went on with a tentative smile. ‘With the right person, it would be a pleasant posting for a few years.’ 

‘You know, I rather think it would be,’ Glorfindel agreed. ‘But it would be a huge waste of your talents.’ 


	12. Understanding Elrond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor and Glorfindel get an explanation out of their lord...

They were not far from the tavern, and had been arrived long enough to have ordered food for everyone and be halfway down substantial tankards of the light ale served in the area when Elrohir and his little troop rode in.

‘Not a patch on honey beer taken the traditional Silvan way,’ Glorfindel said with a wink at Triwathon. ‘But a passable brew, I think.’

Lunch over, they settled the bill and saddled their horses again. Glorfindel, finding himself close to Celeguel while the rest of the company mounted up, remembered Elrond’s words from the morning.

‘Captain, I don’t like to ask – really, I don’t – but how long are you going to be with us? Elrond says that as seneschal, I’m supposed to know these things, and I can’t really tell him ‘as long as they damn well please,’ I’m afraid...’

Celeguel smiled.

‘I understand. There was a need for a goodly troop to ride out; the commander not having properly recovered from his injuries when we set off, and Lord Arveldir, too, being only just returned to fitness. I had thought of sending part of the company home; Amathel should stay, she is our warrior with healer training... and Rusdir... and...’

‘And yourself, you must stay. You are their Captain.’

Celeguel glanced down, smiling under her lashes.

‘I must admit, I am enjoying my visit... if your household resources can stretch to housing these of us, the four others could leave once the horses are properly rested...’

‘I will put it to Elrond. I’ll also suggest that you could all go home in a few days before the winter storms hit – and Erestor, the twins and I will ride back with Arveldir and Triwathon later to keep them safe on the road.’ 

Celeguel smiled.

‘I do not know your lord well, but I rather think he would prefer us all to stay than to lose so many of his household on such a trip. Who knows? You many none of you wish to come back.’

‘Yes. Pretty much sure that Elrond will realise that, too...’ Glorfindel grinned. ‘I think I haven’t said, yet... but thank you for bringing Triwathon to me.’

‘The commander will deny it if asked but... he is a hero. Our king has said, anything Triwathon wants, is to be done. But in truth, we would strive to serve him even without royal command. He is Triwathon.’

Glorfindel nodded. 

‘I know exactly what you mean. Well. Let’s get our hero home.’

 

An hour or so later, the two united troops reined in on the cobbles of the stable courtyard. 

‘Home again,’ Glorfindel said cheerily. ‘I’ll see to Asfaloth and then walk down to the villa with you. Let me help with your horse, come on, down you get...’ 

He cast a worried glance at Triwathon as he spoke; the younger elf had dismounted his horse in apparent discomfort. Not wanting to fuss, however, he said nothing until they were heading back to their little villa, Erestor and Arveldir following near behind.

‘It's a good thing we weren't riding the full bounds today,’ the seneschal said. ‘I'm tired after just this much!'

'Ah, but we were up talking much of the night... and then...'

'Indeed, I found the 'and then' very pleasing! Also, an hour or two of good ale and fireside can sap the energy...' Glorfindel grinned. 'Perhaps a rest when we get back?' 

'Whatever you need, iphant-nin.'

At home, Glorfindel helped Triwathon out of his garments and arranged him on the bed, smiling down.

'Do you think you might stop being so damned alluring for a moment? I think I needed to look at you with my healing eyes...'

'So this was all a ploy to attend to my injuries and not my needs? Truly, you are a villain indeed, Laurefindil!'

'Your side, is it hurting much?'

'No, not greatly; it aches a little, and I am very tired,'

'Well, I will soon have you more comfortable.' He smiled and stroked his hands over Triwathon's body, the touch delicate and kind, not erotic. 'Relax, my dear penneth. Allow yourself to drift... If reverie seeks you, welcome it... Plenty of time later for other things... yes...'

Poor love was exhausted – Glorfindel hadn't realised how tiring Triwathon would find the ride, and he berated himself for having been the Seneschal of Imladris when he should have been the healer, the lover of the Hero of the Battle Under the Trees... he laid his hand over the indentation – a hole, really – where the flaming spear had penetrated Triwathon's ribs... it would fill, in time, the muscles would regrow and the bones regain their proper strength and situation... again he marvelled Triwathon had survived and, surviving, had ridden so far to seek him.

Odd; it didn't seem as far from Rivendell to Eryn Lasgalen as it did from the forest to Rivendell...

Triwathon murmured, his eyes glazing as the nictitating membrane slid across and he entered reverie. Do him good to sleep.

Glorfindel sang quietly to Triwathon's body, telling it to grow strong and hale and be free from pain, and smiled as he felt the muscles under his hands relax further. Lovely. That would be much better.

Once certain his friend was sleeping peacefully, Glorfindel covered him gently with a light blanket, and left the villa.

Erestor and Arveldir were taking the air on their veranda. Erestor greeted him as he approached.

'Our lord Elrond asks me to attend him once I have done with moving his books around. Knowing he also wants a report from you, mellon-nin, I decided to wait and see whether you would like to bear me company?'

'Why not? He didn't mind talking to us together this morning, did he? Triwathon's sleeping; I didn't realise he was still not quite well.’

Arveldir sniffed. 'The healers did not want to release him for a further week, but he insisted on being here for Yule... If you wish, I could sit with him, so that if you are still absent when he wakes, he will not be alone.'

'That's kind of you. My thanks. I should ask... I hear you were injured, too?’

‘A few minor things, one or two orc arrows... nothing so severe as Triwathon’s injuries; I sat with him while he was recovering on many occasions. He will not be surprised to see me there, should he wake.’

‘Then I know he’ll be in good hands. Door’s open, go straight in. He’s in the back room where it’s quieter.’

*

If Elrond was surprised to see Erestor and Glorfindel arrive together, he kept it to himself.

‘Good, you are timely, I see...’

‘I know why you want to see Glorfindel,’ Erestor began, taking a seat without being invited. ‘But as to what you need from me, Elrond...’

‘About this morning...’

Erestor cast his eyes down to his robes where he grew particularly interested in brushing out an apparent stain. Glorfindel thought he saw his friend’s mouth move in a hint of a smile.

‘I accept your apology, Elrond,’ the advisor said. ‘I understand my relationship with Arveldir is problematical for you. What I do not understand is why?’

At this last he lifted his cool gaze to lock eyes with Elrond who, having been about to protest that an apology was not his intention, suddenly found himself floundering at the directness of the question.

‘I... well... I do not have to explain myself to you!’ he blustered.

‘I do not seek an explanation,’ Erestor said softly. ‘I seek merely to understand; it is different. And, perhaps, it is something based on a misunderstanding or misconception as is often the case. If so, how much better for us all would it be, to explore that possibility? We can then simply agree to differ, if needs be...’

‘Glorfindel... what information do you bring me?’ Elrond said, temporising. 

‘More than half Triwathon’s escort can go home once the horses are rested,’ he said. ‘Captain Celeguel, along with Amathel and Rusdir would stay...’

‘I see. And yet surely the captain would do better to ride for home? Along with Rusdir, perhaps...?’

‘Now, I’m not about to upset a troop of wild Silvans, my lord, by telling them who can stay and who should go... Of course, they could all go back, ahead of the storms, and Erestor, the twins and I can ride Arveldir and Triwathon back in six weeks or so...’

‘No, that won’t be necessary,’ Elrond said hurriedly. ‘Very well, then. You may both go... what?’ he added as neither made to move.

‘You were going to help us understand your position on gender-same couples, Elrond,’ Erestor said. ‘So that we can, perhaps, distress each other less.’

‘Each other...?’

‘You surely must see, my lord, how hurtful it is to your loyal friends that you disapprove of where they love? To feel in some way that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves when all we have done is to find individuals who are brave and clever and kind and loving, and to seek to be with them...’

‘Yes, yes...’ Elrond sighed. ‘Do we have to do this now?’

‘I do not see why not,’ Erestor said with a one-shouldered shrug. ‘The longer you have to marshal your arguments, the more you will over-think this and all that will happen is you will find reasonable reasons which will get us no nearer to a proper understanding and the outcome, my lord, will be that one day I will leave and one day, even Glorfindel will come to the end of his loyalty and it will break both our hearts to go, again, but it will break two other hearts if we stay and so we will have to do what we must...’

‘You have to understand, my friends, I do not hold these opinions lightly... it is not a whim, nor any form of prejudice...’

Erestor longed to glance at Glorfindel and see his response to this monumental piece of hypocrisy, but having finally got Elrond talking at all on the topic, he was loath to do anything that would interrupt.

‘Long ago,’ Elrond began, ‘when I was Gil-Galad’s herald... we were away from all we knew, lonely... there was a certain need for someone to confide in, to rely on, for solace far from home... but then he died, and... and in time I married and it seemed inappropriate to dwell on the past...’

Elrond walked to his balcony and looked out over Imladris. Still beautiful, his valley, but beginning to fade slowly, softly. Houses empty, halls echoing... outside his borders, humanity began to encroach...

‘I remember when my sons were small, when Arwen was a child... the corridors rang with laughter... but all things change, although we pretend we are unchanging. Perhaps... you know I was lonely, after Celebrian sailed, I am sure you were both lonely yourselves through the years and yet did nothing about it, but I chose not to see it... and you know about the affair I had... we will not go over that now... but... I think... I do not think it a good thing to live so close to humankind and to flaunt... do not think I accuse with that word, Erestor, you have always been discreet... but to flaunt our differences now, when any difference is dangerous as we are becoming fewer... and humankind rediscovers itself and looks for new ways of being... some say this other way of being is wrong, that it should not be encouraged but actively discouraged... I do not wish to leave you in danger here so it seemed good, to me, to myself...’

He faltered, bowing his head and Erestor and Glorfindel exchanged glances. It all sounded very reasonable, put like that. Wrong, misguided, but entirely understandable. Erestor shook his head at Glorfindel; it was not enough. They all three of them knew it was not enough.

‘...In Eryn Lasgalen you may be safe, Thranduil will keep his people safe in the forest,’ Elrond went on. ‘But in the wider world? Once Aragorn is gone, and Faramir, Imrahil and Eomer, who can say what the next generations will do or face? Here, we will become increasingly isolated, an island in a sea of humanity...’

‘Your pardon, my lord,’ Erestor said, before Elrond could wax more lyrical on his theme. ‘But whilst that goes some way to explain your perceived need for subtlety, it does not justify your wish to prevent my betrothal; none here in Imladris will take the tale of Erestor and Arveldir to the human communities outside the valley... or of Glorfindel and Triwathon’s affair...’

Elrond turned back and to Glorfindel’s surprise, there was a glitter of emotion in the usually controlled grey eyes.

‘Then, if you will make me say it, perhaps it is also because I am ashamed, mellyn-nin,’ he whispered. ‘I am reminded that I was not strong enough to keep to my marriage vows... and I am full of guilt that I cannot bear to see your happiness without judging you, without thinking of Celebrian... and how I betrayed the only comfort she had left, the thought that I would wait for her... and when, shortly, I sail, I must now take the news to her that not only has she lost my fidelity, but she has lost her daughter to this world, too, and... You will excuse me now, I have work to do. Erestor, have your betrothal, if you feel it necessary. Just do not expect me to attend.’


	13. Deciding...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir and Triwathon talk...

Triwathon sighed awake.

The tired ache in his side had gone, replaced by a gentle, comforting warmth. He was beneath a blanket, and knew Glorfindel must have been the one to cover him... the thoughtfulness made him smile.

Such a bundle of contrasts was the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin! A fierce, brave warrior with a healing touch, a tender lover with a loud voice, a Hero of the First Age whose only vulnerabilities were in his determined loyalties and his need to be loved... well, Triwathon could do that, he could love him, although not as well as his patiently-waiting fëa-mate beyond the Sundering Seas could, and the more time Glorfindel spent being loved by Triwathon, the longer it would be before the Lord of the Golden Flower was emotionally ready to go back to his Lord of the Fountains...

Triwathon swallowed. They had always known what they had was fleeting, to be grasped and savoured and received as a gift; he had thought the long separation was a sign Glorfindel was no longer missing him, no longer needed him, and then the letter had come, the space between every word fraught with urgency, and he had found that, on the contrary, Triwathon was needed very much, had been greatly missed...

It was touching, moving, and impossible to resist so much honest affection. And it was not as if Triwathon had found his own fëa-mate yet, not as if he’d been in love with anyone else in the interim’ it had been so easy just to tumble back into love with Glorfindel, to allow himself to be so cherished and nurtured, and all with the added excuse that his Laurefindil was looking better every day, stronger in spirit, renewed, healed.

Well, healing.

Triwathon sighed again and stretched gently, hearing sounds from the other room as he came properly awake.

‘Glorfindel?’ he asked as his eyes focussed on the room around him; all was dark, night having fallen while he rested, but a golden glow from the doorway indicated lit lamps in the other room.

A shadow fell into the golden pool of lamplight as someone knocked lightly at the door.

‘No, it is I, Arveldir, mellon-nin. Glorfindel had to go to the main house to speak with Elrond.’

‘And you offered to sit with me? That’s kind of you.’

‘Well, in all honesty, Erestor had to go, too, so I would have been on my own and it seemed like a good opportunity to speak privately with you...’

‘Oh?’

‘I have made tea, if you would like some.’

‘I’ll be there shortly.’

Arveldir nodded and withdrew, leaving Triwathon to dress and reflect on his outwardly unlikely friendship with the advisor. Arveldir was one of those persons who everyone recognised but few people got to really know; working together for the king had given them a sort of understanding of each other, true. Even so, it had taken serious injury and the sense of being two Silvans alone in a Galadhrim convalescent camp to really bring them together. Arveldir had looked after Triwathon through his healing fevers and Triwathon had spoken gently to Arveldir through his night terrors when the memory of so much burning would surface in his mind to haunt him.

So now they were friends, privy to each other’s hopes and fears and aspirations, and now, as Triwathon pulled on his boots, he wondered what it was that Arveldir needed to talk about.

‘If you will not be too cold, we can sit on the veranda and watch for our friends coming home,’ Arveldir suggested.

Triwathon grinned. They were elves, weather-proof, but his injury had left him subject to sudden chills that were more to do with his brush with death than temperature control and he appreciated the courtesy of Arveldir’s concern.

‘That’s a good thought. I’ll get my cloak.’

When he returned from fetching it, Arveldir had already taken the tea out to a little table between the benches on which Glorfindel enjoyed lounging. A lantern was hooked onto a post and shone out like a beacon along the valley to echo the twinkle of lights from the main house.

‘How is Glorfindel now?’ Arveldir asked as they sat drinking cinnamon spiced ginger tea.

‘He is better, I think. I was shocked, when I saw him, he looked so haunted... and it was all my fault, I thought he was backing away on purpose, and I respected that, I thought he was preparing to sail... and then the war came...’

‘Yes.’ Arveldir shook his head. ‘And then the war came.’

‘Still, I am very glad to be with him again.’

‘And have you decided whether or not to give him up?’

Triwathon sighed sadly. It was something he had discussed with Arveldir on the ride over the mountains, whether it would be better, for Glorfindel’s sake, to release him, or if Triwathon should stay with him for a time; it was why he had two postings in mind, one for either outcome.

‘No,’ he said softly. ‘No, I cannot leave him, not like this, not until I am sure he is strong enough... instead, he must give me up, even if it takes longer. Once he has his emotional strength back, he will see that he needs a little time alone before he is able to sail, and then he can leave Middle Earth with a clear conscience and a happy heart.’

‘And has he not had a little time alone already?’

Triwathon shook his head, smiling.

‘Not really. Since (he says) he has been thinking of me all the time, missing me... I do not believe he has thought of himself as an individual, but as part of Triwathon and Glorfindel, and it is different.’ He gestured down the valley where a small lantern was bobbing along towards them. ‘I think our friends are on their way home.’

‘Triwathon... I do not know what to do...’

Arveldir’s voice was agonised, and Triwathon turned his attention away from the path to look at his friend.

‘What is the matter?’

‘It is Erestor... all I have done is bring him trouble... Elrond disapproves and makes his life difficult, I have made him wait so long; sometimes I feel guilty, that I should have released him long ago but I had not the strength...’

‘Arveldir, no! Erestor loves you, it would break his heart!’

‘Indeed, I love him so much, but Elrond will not let him go, I am sure of it... and he will be torn between duty and love, and...’

‘But you are fëa-mates; it is not like with me and Glorfindel, Arveldir, truly, it would ruin Erestor to lose you! He is too strong to simply fade, instead he will live on in misery forever with the shame of having been jilted...’

‘No, no no...!’ Arveldir shook his head, protesting. ‘He will be fine, he...’

‘Elrond will rebuke him for all the time he will spend missing you, grieving for you; Elrond will say, I told you so, to Erestor, and it would be worse for him than if you had died in the war, mellon-nin! You cannot do this to him, or to yourself. Trust to the bond you have; it has survived so much already... it is one thing to have never found your forever love and to make do with what crumbs of solace you can find, but to have your fëa-mate in your grasp and choose to push him away... it is too wrong, mellon-nin, too wrong to both your fëar...’

Arveldir sniffed and brushed his hand across his face. Getting to his feet, he almost ran down the steps to the path, hurrying along it to where Erestor and Glorfindel were now near enough to see. Triwathon watched as Arveldir caught Erestor in an apparently-unexpected embrace as he heard Glorfindel laugh and Erestor’s protest cut short.

Soon, alone, Glorfindel arrived to open his arms and fold Triwathon into them, cuddling gently.

‘Arveldir has just told Erestor he loves him more than anything, ever, and he will never give Elrond the opportunity to rebuke him or say I told you so, whatever that means... talking of rebukes, should I scold you for being out here in the cold?’

‘I have my cloak, as you see, and Arveldir made hot tea for us. But if you think I need warming up...?’

‘Now, there’s a thought! Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt, would it? Nice hot bath? Or nice cool honey beer? Or both? Both is good, do you not think?’

Triwathon laughed.

‘Yes. Yes, both is good. But, knowing you, beer first and bath after is probably the best option.’


	14. Right to Party....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir and Erestor become formally betrothed...

Erestor felt as if he had hardly stopped all day. Since Elrond had grudgingly told him the night before that he could have his betrothal, he had been a whirlwind of activity, helped and assisted by a delighted Arveldir. So while Erestor had been attending to Elrond’s morning orders, Arveldir had been convincing the kitchens to provide party food and plenty of wine and beer for the evening. Glorfindel and Triwathon had been roped in to pass on subtle invitations to all Erestor’s friends and the Silvan contingent was primed and ready to enjoy themselves.

Arveldir himself came hurrying up to Triwathon around the middle of the afternoon, just as he was heading to the main house to ask Lindir if he would like to attend the party.

‘Mellon-nin, I need to thank you; last night you saved me from the worst mistake of my life!’

‘Well, you and Erestor are fëa-mates; it would be wrong to...’

‘No, no, no... that is, yes... but this morning, as I was about my business, Elrohir said to me, so you are making an honest ellon of him at last? I had to ask him what he meant and he... oh, he explained to me how much a traditionalist Erestor is, how, for him, the first time we were... intimate together, to him that would have been a betrothal, and I did not know; well, the Silvan ways are not Noldor, but I had no idea... had I relinquished him, even for the best of attentions, he would have felt so shamed...’

‘I did not know that; I think it must have been different, in Gondolin. Or else Glorfindel is different...’

‘Yes, you must admit, Triwathon, Glorfindel is different. Well, I must be off... I know Erestor and I exchanged betrothal rings over two centuries ago, but I want something else to give him and an armband will not be appropriate until our avowing...’

‘Speak to Celeguel,’ Triwathon said, smiling. ‘And stop worrying so! You will have a wonderful evening.’

He smiled as the usually calm Arveldir set off in search of Captain Celeguel, and himself continued on his way to seek Lindir.

The sound of a harp being gently tuned led him round the back of the house to where a set of large windows were standing open to the crisp winter air. Within, he could see Lindir working carefully down the rows of strings. Seeing Triwathon, he stayed his hands.

‘Commander, good day. You have an air of one seeking something?’

‘Someone, Lindir. Yourself, in fact.’ Triwathon went up to the open window. ‘Tonight there will be a party to celebrate Erestor and Arveldir’s betrothal; it is a little late coming, perhaps...’

‘But that is wonderful news! And they would like me to play for them? It would be my pleasure! Are there any traditional Silvan tunes I need to know?’

‘Lindir, please...! No, I am sure they would love for you to play, but you are invited, as a guest. You and Amathel, that is. Since Lord Elrond is a little uncomfortable with the idea of the formal announcement, we are passing discreet invitations around to all their friends and supporters. But perhaps, if Elrond was wanting your talents after dinner, should he think you have been asked to play for Erestor tonight, it might make it easier for you to get away...’

‘That is, truly, most kind. Perhaps, then, I can offer to play, making music my gift. Do you know any Silvan songs...?’

Triwathon smiled.

‘I’m sure Amathel does.’

*

A gentle tapping on his study door caused Elrond to look up from where he had been writing a letter to send back with the returning Silvans of the troop to King Thranduil.

What now? It was but an hour from the evening meal and he really had wanted to get this finished without interruption... but having left his door open, he could not legitimately object. Through the narrow opening, he could see Lindir patiently waiting.

He allowed himself the ill-manners of an audible sigh.

‘What is it, Lindir? Come in.’

‘My lord, forgive the interruption...’

‘Yes?’

‘I will not be singing in the Hall of Fire tonight; I have agreed to perform at the celebration of Erestor and Arveldir’s betrothal...’

‘What?’

‘Arveldir and Erestor’s betrothal celebration. At their villa, this evening.’

‘I didn’t realise...’

‘I wondered if that might be the case, my lord, which is one reason I felt it important that you be made aware. So that, when you do not attend, I will know it is by choice, and not because you hadn’t known of the event. I would not dream of saying so to my hosts, of course. Well, you are busy, I will no longer intrude. Have a pleasant evening, my lord.’  
Lindir backed out of Elrond’s study and bowed respectfully. He turned away before Elrond could see the smile of satisfaction on his face, and hurried to his room to change into his best robe and collect his lap harp; he would not be playing until after supper, but since he, and all Erestor’s and Arveldir’s guests, had been invited to eat with them first, he was on his way to their villa now.

Besides, Elrond might come looking for him, and he would rather not be found.

On his way out of the house, he found himself bracketed by Elrohir and Elladan.

‘Did you ask Adar?’ Elrohir enquired.

‘To Erestor’s party?’ Elladan added.

‘Nothing quite so bold,’ Lindir said. ‘To have invited him would have been improper of me, and possibly have made him more determined to stay away. But he is aware of the celebration, now, and is also aware, now, that if he does not attend it will be known to be a deliberate choice.’

‘I don’t understand him,’ Elladan said, shaking his head. ‘Whatever his opinion about... things, he surely would know that he’s hurting Erestor’s feelings? It’s not like Adar to be deliberately unkind...’

‘Well, your father’s opinions are his own, and none of my business,’ Lindir said, making himself smile. ‘Now, come. It would not do to be late; Lord Erestor has a great value for punctuality.’

*

Erestor was fussing.

‘Does the house look neat and tidy enough?’

‘The house looks fine. Wonderful, in fact. As do you,’ Arveldir said.

‘And we have enough food and drink? Or too much?’

‘All of it is fare that may be used in other meals, if needs be, nothing will be wasted. And with Glorfindel attending, could there be too much drink?’

‘True. Will they come?’

‘Of course they will come. You are highly respected by the household and much loved by your friends.’

Erestor cast an agonised look at Arveldir.

‘But will it be all right?’

Arveldir put his arm around the slight shoulders with gentle care.

‘It will be wonderful. Erestor, before we have company, I need to say something to you. I... it was something I did not know, I may have inadvertently hurt your fëa...’

‘You? No...’

‘Yes. When we first met and knew each other, and then after we parted, all the time that passed by us and I did not know, for you, that first glorious afternoon, how much it meant for your traditions...’

‘Hush,’ Erestor laid a long finger on Arveldir’s lips. ‘That was the afternoon when I lay under wide blue skies beside a river and had my arms full of wild wood elf, and it was wonderful. And that wild wood elf had, but twenty minutes earlier, been controlled and sophisticated... to feel I had brought about that change... you made me feel magnificent, mellon-nin, and I would have waited until the world’s end to see you again, if I’d had to, and thought my time well spent.’

Arveldir covered Erestor’s finger with his hand, lifted it away to press against his heart.

‘Well, you have waited too long. No longer. Tonight, I will... how shall I say it? Make an honest ellon of you, finally...’

Erestor laughed and allowed himself to be gently hugged and led outside onto the veranda.

‘Look down the valley; a little stream of lights heading our way. Our guests, Erestor.’

‘And two more lanterns coming from up the valley; Glorfindel and Triwathon. It is fitting they should arrive first, and nobody starts a party quite like Glorfindel. And, look! He is even wearing his circlet in honour of the occasion!’

‘We brought you a gift,’ Glorfindel said, grinning as he climbed the steps with his arm around Triwathon’s shoulders. ‘Well. Two gifts...’

He relinquished his hold on Triwathon long enough to present his offering with a bow to Erestor.

‘This is the first gift, a bottle of honey beer, all the way from Eryn Lasgalen,’ Glorfindel said. ‘The fact that Triwathon brought it all the way here, for me, and that we both agree it should be yours, for tonight, for when everyone has gone home, makes it more splendid...’

‘Well, I am most grateful,’ Erestor said. ‘I have heard you reference the honey beer of the forest with many a sad sigh; it must be special indeed...’

‘This is the second part of the gift,’ Triwathon stepped forward with a smile that was suddenly shy and passed a folded and sealed piece of paper to Arveldir. ‘Here are full instructions for the right way to prepare and present the beer. Believe me, you will enjoy it far better, both of you, than simply from the glass...’

‘Whatever can you mean...? I am agog...’

‘Best put it away safe for later,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Your other guests are almost here and, well... you won’t want to keep them waiting for an hour while you test out the beer...’

Mystified, Arveldir shook his head and went inside, taking the beer, and the folded paper with him.

‘Thank you, Glorfindel, Triwathon,’ Erestor said. ‘Go in and be seated; I must greet our other guests.

Glorfindel smiled and took a seat on the sofa, pulling Triwathon onto his lap. They heard Erestor speaking gentle welcomes to Celeguel and her Silvan troop and invite them in, himself following.

‘There is another cluster of lanterns on the way, but let me serve you with drinks first... please, be comfortable in our home... Arveldir is just busy with something...’

‘He’s been a while,’ Glorfindel said quietly to Triwathon. 

‘I expect he’s reading the instructions,’ Triwathon said.

‘He’s probably fainted with shock.’

‘Well, you were the one insisted on drawing diagrams to go with it... and, with respect, I am sure not all of it was to scale...’

Glorfindel stifled a giggle as Arveldir reappeared, wide-eyed and shaking his head.

‘Are you all right?’ Erestor said, crossing swiftly to his beloved. ‘You seem a little distracted.’

‘Let me simply say I am sure we will enjoy both our gifts very much... Most kind, Triwathon, yes, I see now... Ah, Captain Celeguel, everyone, welcome...’

‘Elladan and Elrohir are walking up with Lindir,’ Celeguel said. ‘Thank you for inviting us to share your celebrations.’

‘You are most welcome,’ Arveldir said, coming forward.

Glorfindel shifted Triwathon off his lap and onto the sofa.

‘Can I help get drinks for people, Erestor?’ he asked. ‘So you can greet the rest of your guests?’

‘Thank you, yes... Arveldir, will you join me?’

*

The Great Hall was very empty tonight, Elrond noted. Granted, many folk had left Imladris after the end of the War of the Ring, making their way west to the Grey Havens at Mithlond and thence to the Undying Lands, but this evening it was more than that; hardly anyone had come to the tables. 

Oddly enough, it was almost as if the kitchens had been expecting it, for although the range of dishes was as broad as ever, the number of platters placed on the tables were far fewer than usual.

As it was, he was soon alone at the high table except for one or two of the knights and they had sat out of reach for conversation, eating and departing in haste.

With no excuse himself to linger, the Lord of the Last Homely House finished his meal and carried his glass of wine through to the Hall of Fire which was even less populous than the dining hall had been. The harp lay unstroked, no notes of flute or pipe softened the crackle of the flames.

Elrond sipped his wine and sighed. Everyone would be at Erestor’s betrothal, of course. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. Well, while the house was quiet, perhaps he could catch up on his paperwork; Erestor had been slacking lately.

He set down his empty glass and left the Hall of Fire, heading for his study and trying not to feel ashamed of himself.

*

Erestor was starting to relax. No new guests had arrived for at least half an hour, and it seemed as if everyone they had expected was there. That aside, he was on his third glass of wine and beginning to feel rather mellow. Lindir was singing softly and playing a gentle tune and Arveldir was... was looking intently at him in a way that made Erestor wish he could send everyone home right now...

‘Everyone got a drink?’ Glorfindel asked, topping up glasses. ‘Here we are... Erestor, come over here, Arveldir wants to talk to you... come on...’

Lindir finished his song and Glorfindel beckoned and gestured until Erestor made his way over to stand with Arveldir.

‘Friends, our thanks that you have come to share our evening,’ Arveldir began, lightly taking Erestor’s hand. ‘You all of you know that Erestor and I met more than two centuries ago; it took us far less time to realise we should be fëa-mates than it has taken us to be at the point where we can formally announce our intentions; we have been wearing each other’s betrothal rings for a very long time...’

He paused to lift their joined hands and looked at their beringed fingers.

‘Erestor, I wish it known that I want to make you mine to the end of the world and beyond. And not death, or kings, or Elrond will prevent me. I have this for you, as a further token...’

Relinquishing his hand, he reached into his robes to withdraw a simple plaited band of leather with two long ends.

‘It is a traditional Silvan betrothal gift,’ he said, fastening the long ends around Erestor’s neck behind the weight of his glossy hair. ‘It is worn so, and then, when the parties marry – take vows – it can be used as the token of that, and worn as an armband.’

‘I am very grateful! And I would like to say, some things are worth waiting for. Or I would not have waited. Yes, I will be yours, and you will be mine, until the forests fail and the stars see all... and I have something for you, too.’ 

He handed Arveldir a small pouch. Inside was a lattice-work ring, constructed in such a way that it expanded and contracted to fit varying sizes. At its smallest, though, it looked much too large for any of Arveldir’s fingers.

‘It is very fine, Erestor, and I thank you. I have large hands, I know...’

Erestor lifted his head to speak softly into Arveldir’s ear. ‘It is not for on your hands...’

‘Arveldir, Erestor – we drink to you,’ Glorfindel said quickly and raised his glass. ‘Have many years of happiness, and we want to come to the wedding... just... don’t make us wait another two and a half centuries for the invitation!’

*

Elrond couldn’t settle. His study was too empty, the house too silent. Every paper on his desk was an accusation, for it had been drafted by Erestor, passed to him by his advisor, commented on by him, and after all these centuries of service, now his advisor was abandoning his duties for...

No. That wasn’t right. Erestor wasn’t abandoning his duties; he had done all he could to ensure his work did not suffer, that Elrond was not left without counsel; he had put his own happiness aside simply because Elrond had claimed he could not spare him and was even prepared to bring his chosen companion here to live so that he could continue his duties.

Simply because Elrond did not, could not, would not approve had not stopped Erestor’s meticulous service, his unfailing integrity.

And tonight Erestor was finally taking the unnecessary step of a betrothal, because his Silvan friend had already waited far too long.

After an hour, Elrond got to his feet and went to his rooms to find a cloak and a lantern and left the house. He could take a walk through the valley to clear his head; It was a bright night and it would be a change. And if his way took him near to Erestor’s, well, perhaps he could stop in for a moment...

*

Arveldir looked into the sensitive, dark eyes of his beloved, his betrothed. Erestor was curled on his lap, head against Arveldir’s shoulder, singing along to the love song Lindir was playing and making every word a gift. The Silvan smiled and felt his heart expand within his chest; this had taken far too long, but it had happened, finally.

‘What are you thinking?’ Erestor asked abruptly, his eyes glittering as he stroked Arveldir’s hair with a slightly unsteady hand.

‘I am thinking, thank you, all the Valar, for bringing me to this place, this night, this moment. I am thinking, let us have a shorter formal betrothal than an informal one. I am thinking... let us take our vows now, tonight...’

‘Oh, I would love to, but I think you are a little tipsy,’ Erestor said with considered thought. ‘Does it still count?’

‘I am sure it will.’

‘A lovely idea, indeed, but I wanted you to have a proper Silvan celebration, such as I have heard of...’

‘We have Silvans here, we have stars overhead, we have lanterns. Your necklace will be your token; I am sure one of our friends has a length of leather if you needed something to present to me...’

Glorfindel smiled at Triwathon, who was watching the exchange with awe, and snagged the blue-studded circlet from his head.

‘Erestor... squeeze the points together and you will have a very fine token for your spouse.’

‘Oh, I could not...’

‘Just until you make him something. And he gets you home to the forest. Then you can do it again, if you want. But don’t make him wait, any longer.’

‘Can we do this? Now? And again, later?’

‘I think it is a slightly different ceremony, but, yes,’ Triwathon said.

‘Will you, my dear Arveldir?’

‘Would you?’

‘Yes. Of course.’

‘Then... why not? We will need a Witness...’

‘Can I make a suggestion?’ Celeguel said from a corner. ‘Triwathon knows what to do...’


	15. Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an unexpected guest arrives for the wedding...
> 
> And Glorfindel's eyeballs sweat...

Elrond raised his lantern high. How odd! Although the lamps were lit in Erestor’s villa, there were no sounds of voices, no laughter or strains of harp... none of those sounds you would expect from a party, even a sophisticated and elegant affair... not that any party with Glorfindel involved would stay sophisticated or elegant for long; it was as if refinement and gentility brought out the worst in the Balrog-slayer these days...

Well, perhaps this new friend – new old friend, Elrond supposed... would have a calming effect on Glorfindel. One could hope.

‘Hello?’

Elrond tapped on the door which swung wide. Yes, evidence of a party everywhere... food on the table, glasses all around – most of them empty, and used... but no guests.

‘Erestor? Arveldir? I came to... I brought...’

Elrond trailed off. Well, it had been a nice thought.

As he was turning to go, he thought he heard voices – no, one voice, faint, but clear. It sounded as though a gathering was being addressed and it seemed to be coming from beyond the rear of the villa.

Passing through the house, he noticed the rear door was open, and looked out. The voice was clearer, now, coming from beyond the garden boundary, and he made his way towards it. As he grew nearer, he recognised Triwathon as the speaker and the words came into auditory focus.

‘...Arveldir and Triwathon, as your Witness under the bright stars...’

What was going on? He began to lift his lantern to get a better view, but suddenly his arm was grasped and his lantern covered, its light muffled by something draped over it.

‘Not yet, my lord, it is too soon!’ a voice hissed.

‘Captain Celeguel?’

‘Triwathon is Witness, his lamp must shine first... listen, wait...’

Bewildered, and somewhat startled, Elrond heard Arveldir calling the stars and all the Valar and Eru Ilúvatar to look down through the trees and see his vows to bind himself always to Erestor, together or apart, body, heart and fëa, and Erestor make similar vows back.

Then Triwathon, again: ‘Your vows are witnessed, your commitments made. Body to body, heart to heart, fëa to fëa. Today, tomorrow, forever, live in joy and light...’ 

A lantern shone out, suddenly, illuminating Erestor and Arveldir standing together with Triwathon facing the, and all three a little way apart from a cluster of elves; Elrond saw Lindir and Glorfindel, his sons and many others... the party guests, of course. One by one they lifted lanterns and lamps and let the brightness shine out.

‘Now!’ Celeguel said, baring her own lamp. ‘And come forward to greet them!’

‘What exactly is going on here?’

‘A Silvan ceremony. They decided to make their vows tonight, and not to wait... it is wonderful, do you not think? Such a beautiful ritual, and Triwathon was perfect as Witness... not even our king has done better...’

...what?

Vows?

‘...wonderful that they exchanged arm bands not rings; indeed, the war has made warriors of us all and I have seen Lord Arveldir fight, he deserves a warrior ritual...’

Elrond had stopped listening. So Erestor had taken his permission to announce a betrothal and then somehow turned it into a Silvan wedding without asking?

This was too much...!

But he was still standing with his lantern raised, its light illuminating his face, and he made himself smile, since it was, after all, a public occasion, and Erestor’s eyes alighted on him, his face changing and he looked to his newly-avowed fëa-mate with wonder and relief in his expression. Belatedly Elrond realised that whatever his feelings about this ill-considered union, too all intents and purposes it now looked as if he was supporting it... and there was no way to recant, to explain it had been a mistake, that he was not, in fact, shining his lantern to witness their union, but had simply been trying to see what was going on...

Arveldir and Erestor were coming towards him now, accepting the congratulations of their friends and it would be too unkind of him to disillusion them.

‘Lord Elrond,’ Arveldir began, his eyes surprised but a smile on his lips. ‘You honour us with your attendance.’

‘Indeed,’ Erestor said, his arm firmly linked with Arveldir’s. ‘I had not thought you would come... knowing how busy you are... and...’

‘Erestor, you are one of my oldest friends,’ Elrond began. ‘I... found I did not wish to see you mark such an important occasion without believing you had my support...’

‘Will you come back to the house?’

‘Thank you, Arveldir, I will. I have a small token for you both... just a flask of miruvor... had I realised this was more than a betrothal party...’

‘You are most kind, my lord...’

Glorfindel watched the exchange and saw Arveldir, Erestor and Elrond head back to the house before putting his arms around Triwathon and giving him a gentle squeeze.

‘You were wonderful. Sounded very calm, and very... very Witnessy, if you understand?’

Triwathon laughed and linked his arms around Glorfindel’s neck under his golden hair.

‘My thanks. It was an honour to be asked. And I am so glad Elrond arrived.’

‘Yes, although I don’t think he realised he was here for a wedding... still, Erestor looked happy.’

‘And Arveldir. Shall we go back to the party?’

‘Can we not go straight home?’ Glorfindel asked. ‘There is still one bottle of honey beer left...’

‘I would love to. But as Witness, I will be looked for.’

‘All right. I suppose we can always watch the twins teasing their dear Ada...’

*

The second half of the party was, if anything, better than the first. Already relaxed by wine and food, Erestor was in mellow mood, leaning in to Arveldir with obvious devotion and expressing an almost pathetic gratitude for Elrond’s presence... So much so, in fact, that the Lord of Imladris began to feel properly ashamed of himself for all the obstacles he had, accidentally or otherwise, put in the way of his advisor’s happiness. His worst moment was when Erestor hugged Arveldir and released him, and the Silvan came over to bow at Elrond and speak with genuine gratitude of Elrond’s generosity and kindness.

‘Thank you, my lord, for trusting me with your advisor’s happiness. I will not take the responsibility lightly.’

‘Yes, well... why do you not take him back with you to Eryn Lasgalen?’ Elrond said. ‘I will need him back before the Midsummer Festival, but I realise there is still much work you must do for your king and you may as well do it with Erestor at your side...’

‘You are most gracious, my lord. It is likely to be some time before all is settled in Eryn Lasgalen, but to be able to begin the task with Erestor with me will make all seem easy.’

‘Well, that is settled then.’ Besides which, it would mean Elrond would not have to put up with either newlyweds or a moping advisor for a few months. ‘If you will excuse me, I will wish you a pleasant evening. Goodnight.’

Unable to bear it any longer, Elrond forced a smile onto his face and left the villa, making his way slowly back up to the house. 

He felt tired, suddenly, and with part of his mind he knew the time was rapidly approaching when he could no longer bear to be part of Middle-Earth. Ahead of that day there was still work to do; making what alliances he could for those of Elvenkind who remained, securing the safety of as many of his friends and family as possible.

In truth, he would need his advisor at his side now more than ever... had he really just given Erestor several month’s leave of absence? What had he been thinking?

Well, perhaps in the morning nobody would remember.

He sighed and turned to look back down towards the villa. 

It was at moments like these that he felt most alone, with no-one to confide in, to reassure him he had not been so very selfish over the years. Even someone to accuse him so he could defend himself and feel justified in his actions and opinions would have helped, someone, anyone. But there was no-one, now, with the courage either to accuse him or to challenge him.

Suddenly he saw the glint and swing of two lanterns leaving the villa and the drift of voices.

‘Ada! Wait a moment!’

‘Wait for us, Ada...!’

Elrond found a lump in his throat and he swallowed hard. It was a moment before he could trust his voice to sound properly impatient.

‘Elladan, Elrohir! Come, hurry, then! I do not have all night to wait for you!’

*

Back in the villa, Erestor was sitting on Arveldir’s lap and smiling gently.

‘Elrond said so? I may go back with you?’

‘Only if you wish to, and it will only be for a little while, a few months.’

‘Arveldir?’

‘Yes?’

‘Take me home?’

‘We are home.’

‘Oh. Well, if we leave, maybe everyone else will think we’ve gone home, and when we come back, they will all have gone...’

‘Possibly. But I would rather stay here with you.’

‘Good idea. We should stay here... since you won’t take me home, could you get somebody to take everyone else home, do you think?’

Arveldir smiled and caught Lindir’s eye. The minstrel drew his playing to a close and stilled the strings of his lap harp, rising to his feet and beginning to work his way through the guests.

‘I think our friends wish to continue their celebration privately,’ he said softly to Glorfindel. ‘Will you and Triwathon help pass the word it is time to go home?’

‘Just gather up the unopened bottles and tell the knights to take it to the barracks and carry on there, why not?’ Glorfindel grinned. ‘But, well, it is getting late... Celeguel, Rusdir... you seem to have lost your twins?’

‘I sent mine after his Adar,’ Celeguel said. ‘Rusdir’s followed. But, yes, time to be leaving. It is good to see our king’s advisor so happy.’

‘And my lord’s. It’s been a long time coming.’

Glorfindel and Triwathon were last to go, helping clear away the worst of the debris while the last of the guests bid their hosts goodnight. Locked in what looked like a very determined, very lingering kiss, Erestor and Arveldir were oblivious.

Triwathon reached for Glorfindel’s hand.

‘Time for bed,’ he said.

‘Well, all right.’ Glorfindel grinned and pulled Triwathon against his chest. ‘But shouldn’t we go home first?’

*

Glorfindel arched slowly, sliding his hips to bring Triwathon deeper inside him, drawing his hands lightly down his lover’s ribs to make Triwathon gasp and shudder. They had been loving like this for hours, it seemed, tumbling down into bed as soon as they got in, kissing with urgent need before settling into this slow and sensual loving as if they had all of forever for this one encounter. 

Triwathon stroked his fingers over the length of erection swiftly, two, three times, before stilling his hand and gripping tight around the base of the shaft. Glorfindel moaned softly and threw his head back as he rocked his hips forward, finding exactly the right spot inside and feeling his desire and arousal blossom.

‘Ah, that is... Triwathon, I cannot...’

He convulsed as he climaxed, spilling over Triwathon’s once more working hand, over the flat belly, his body gripping and pulling Triwathon further inside himself, causing the beautiful elf beneath him to shudder and moan his name as he found his own release.

About to comment about the need for another bath as he disengaged and lay down next to Triwathon to cuddle in, he found himself distracted.

‘Triwathon? Why are you crying?’

Triwathon lifted fingers to his wet face, giving a tiny shake of his head.

‘Perhaps because you are, Laurefindil-nin.’

‘I’m not crying! It’s just... when I make love to an especially beautiful fëa, my eyeballs sweat.’

This made Triwathon laugh away his tears.

‘Your eyeballs sweat?’

‘Well... they leak, sometimes. A bit. But, come, what’s wrong?’

‘Really, just seeing you... you looked so beautiful, so joyous and then I realised you were... your eyeballs were sweating...’

‘Yes. They do that.’ Glorfindel placed a small and tender kiss just at the side of Triwathon’s mouth. ‘Bath time? You seem a little sticky.’

‘Hir-nin, Laurefindil-nin, I would like to know what so moved you...’

Glorfindel sighed and rolled onto his back, his hand reaching for Triwathon’s so that his love knew he wasn’t moving away from him.

‘It’s the wedding. Seeing Arveldir and Erestor taking their vows tonight, so happy, and to know I can’t give you that sort of promise...’

‘But I have never expected that from you, never wanted such commitment. You have someone waiting.’

Glorfindel sighed.

‘Yes, and that’s it. I found I was thinking I wished I’d met you before I knew him... you and I, Triwathon, we could have been amazing...’

‘But we already have been amazing, we are amazing! And think, were that so, you would never have known your fëa-mate! How sad that would have been for you both!’ Triwathon propped himself up on one elbow to look into those too-blue eyes. ‘And if you had not known your Lord of the Fountains, you would have been a different person, and might not have looked twice at me.’

‘Oh, I’m sure I would... well, all right. But if the Valar had to send me back, did they have to send me back with all those memories? So many blanks I have, why did they decide these particular ones were important? Couldn’t they have let me forget? Or... or at least not remember Ecthelion...?’

Glorfindel trailed off, shaking his head, despising his disloyalty; Ecthelion was waiting for him beyond the Sundering Seas, patient, longing... well, perhaps not so patient, but... and he did love him, he did, it was just... oh Triwathon...

‘You don’t mean that, and I know you don’t,’ Triwathon said. ‘I know you will hate yourself for these thoughts, later. So do not let them settle on you!’

‘I love you.’

‘And I you. But we all of us love many people; we are allowed to love more than one individual, it is only the way and the how that varies. You love your Lord of Gondolin, who sang so sweetly and who delighted in sculpted, living waters. And he loves his Glorfindel, who is bold and brave and yet so tender-hearted... I think, dear love, there is a purpose to all things. I believe that your second life has been harsh and ungentle with you, and in order to properly love your beloved when you return to him, your fëa has had to remember how to love gently... and I believe that is why I have been blessed with you, so that through the strength and confidence you gave me at first and the loyalty through the centuries you have shown by still loving me, you would relearn how to love him as he needs to be loved. I am honoured, Laurefindil-nin, to have been allowed to share so much of you...’

‘But it can’t go on,’ Glorfindel whispered. ‘Not forever.’

‘Nothing does, my dear friend. Not unchanged. And we always knew...’

‘Yes. Always.’ Glorfindel sighed. ‘Somewhere you have a fëa-mate seeking you. And when you find each other, it will be magnificent. But I doubt you’ll find him in Ithilien, especially not if I’m with you... you deserve a command, Triwathon, you are brave and talented and know how to care about people the right way, how to get the best out of them. You need to go north... or is it east...? Or north east, to your new settlement in the forest, and be amazing there, and who knows? Perhaps your fëa-mate will be waiting for you!’

‘Perhaps so, but I do not think it likely.’ Triwathon began to move from the bed, tugging Glorfindel towards the bathing pool. ‘And perhaps I would like to wash your back, and feel how soft your skin is under water.’

‘And perhaps you’re going to leave soon.’

‘I do not have to go yet... I have weeks before I need to really think about leaving.’ Triwathon backed down the steps into the pool, pulling Glorfindel after him. ‘And your back will need washing many times before then.’

‘Umm... and my front...’

‘Quite possibly. Now, pass me the soap.’

‘I wonder if Erestor washes Arveldir’s back for him...’

‘Tomorrow you can ask him, if you dare. But be prepared to run away; he might not want to answer.’

‘Or he might tell me too much...’

‘Come, let me wash your face. How are the eyeballs now?’

‘Not sweating at all now. Perfectly fine.’ Glorfindel gave a little sniff. ‘Except for the soap.’


	16. Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel faces an unpleasant reality...

Two days after the wedding, Glorfindel was heading home following a short training session with the knights when he was hailed by a light, female Silvan voice.

‘My lord, can you spare me a few minutes of your time?’

‘Captain Celeguel... If I say ‘no’, will you go away?’ He grinned to show he didn’t mean it and she smiled as he rolled his eyes and pretended to sigh as he waited for her to catch up with him.

‘I thought not.’ He set off again, heading to a bench placed along the path, gesturing her to be seated and himself joining her. ‘What’s troubling you, Captain?’

‘I have been debating with my guard, my lord, concerning the journey back to Eryn Lasgalen. Now that our Lord Arveldir has married and is bringing his husband home with him, there is an argument to be made for a larger escort, both to honour Lord Erestor and to ensure no mishaps. It might be well were all of us, perhaps, to go.’

‘I see. Well, I won’t be the only one to be sorry to see you leave; you Silvans have really cheered the place up!’

‘Thank you, Lord Glorfindel. But there is much work to be done in our forest, and we are keen to begin. Every hand is needed.’

‘I can understand that. I can ride Triwathon back to you with some of our knights in time for his posting.’

Even as he said it, Glorfindel knew that wouldn’t work and Celeguel was looking doubtfully at him.

‘Do you think your lord can spare both you and Lord Erestor to be from home at the same time, then?’

‘When you put it like that, no...’ Glorfindel sighed.

‘It does not matter, we can send an escort for Commander Triwathon; it will be an honour. It is good to see him recovering so well and to seen him beginning to look like the warrior of yore. He will need his strength, when he commences his new posting, and I hope you will encourage him, while he is here, to train and regain all his former fitness for his forthcoming duties.’

‘I will, indeed; it’s been a joy to see him getting stronger. He’s very special.’

‘Indeed, my lord, he is very important, to us too, and also to our king! He was chosen, by Thranduil himself, to command his personal guard while Commander Govon kept safe the heart of the forest. Now our king seeks to set up a new centre of government in the north of Eryn Lasgalen, with Triwathon as Commander of the guard there; it is the second most important post there is! And his alternative is... is to go on a jaunt to Ithilien with nothing more than a Captaincy in prospect? You are dear to him, my lord, and I am certain that the notion that you might accompany him there is what makes Ithilien seem such an enticing prospect. His kind nature may make it difficult to put his own best interests first...’

‘Celeguel...’ Glorfindel shook his head. ‘I don’t want to hold him back; I was so pleased to see him, so grateful he survived... I only want him to be happy, you know.’

‘Indeed, it is obvious you care deeply for each other.’ She shook her head. ‘I would not presume to offer advice, my lord; you deserve my respect... but so does Commander Triwathon! For his sake, I needed to speak out.’

‘Yes. But, you know, we do have an understanding; he knows I’m only free until I sail... and I know I’m not his forever-love...’

‘Indeed, and I do not wish to offend, but... my lord Glorfindel, I have a single question for you to consider. While he has you, what incentive has he to seek his true fëa-mate?’

Glorfindel dropped his chin to his chest and sighed.

‘You know, I was just starting to like you, Captain... and then you go and tell me something I don’t want to hear...’

‘Yes. If one you disliked told you, it would be easier to ignore. I am sorry to cause you distress. But – as you have said – there is someone waiting for you across the Sundering Seas.’

‘This is true. And we will be very glad to see each other. But I can’t sail yet. I have obligations to keep me here.’

‘Might I ask, do they have to be Commander Triwathon’s obligations, also?’ Celeguel tipped her head. ‘I think I must argue that it is best all my guard and I ride back to Eryn Lasgalen. We will set out in two or three or five days, before the winter storms hit. Lord Arveldir and Master Erestor will come with us, that the news of their union may be celebrated. It will give you and Commander Triwathon a few weeks together without reminders of home to weigh with our comrade. Moreover, it is probably time Amathel, Rusdir and I ended our dalliances, before our friends become too attached.’

‘Is that the Silvan way, Celeguel?’ Glorfindel said, trying to grin. ‘Pick them up and put them down again?’

‘No, it is not, of course! But once it becomes obvious that mutual attraction is unlikely to become mutual love, it is kinder to back away before hearts become too heavy at thought of parting. Lord Elrond will never countenance any union between his sons and Silvans; he thinks us too wild and uncivilised. And your minstrel is too busy about his harp to satisfy Amathel, who has confided to see such beautiful hands stroking inanimate strings is not something she thinks she could get used to.’

‘I’m sure Elrond will invite you to stay longer.’

‘Yes, but he will not mean a word of it.’ She smiled. ‘So, there is much for me to arrange. Good day to you, my lord.’

‘And to you, Captain.’

He waited for her to get out of sight down the path before himself getting up from the bench and making his way back to the villa, suddenly with a lot to think about.

*

Triwathon had been leaning on the railings of the veranda, looking out for his lover, and waved vigorously as soon as he saw Glorfindel turn the corner of the path that brought him into view.

‘He’s on his way, then?’ Arveldir said from the bench behind him.

‘He is, indeed. Will you stay?’

‘To greet him, of course. But he is come from training and will want his bath... and help with it, no doubt.’

Triwathon glanced over his shoulder to see Arveldir smiling, and smiled back. It was good to see the advisor so relaxed, so content. One tended not to look too closely at Lord Arveldir, since he wore his formal air like armour, but on coming to Imladris he had largely set that formality aside and, since his marriage, looked to be a different elf entirely, younger, less care-worn... happier, Triwathon supposed.

He felt a brief pang. In spite of the love he shared with Glorfindel, he knew it didn’t approach the intensity of connection between Arveldir and Erestor; however wonderful, however loving, Laurefindil was not his fëa-mate.

Ai, but he was beautiful, and golden, and smiling.

And home.

And his eyes were shadowed, as they were when his past weighed on him too much, but Triwathon pretended not to notice and ran down the steps to cross the last distance between them, and catch him up in a great hug of greeting.

‘Good morning again, hir-nin! Ai, you have been working hard today! Arveldir came to pass the time with me; Erestor is up at the main house pretending to work...’

As Triwathon had hoped, the shadow retreated in the ultra-blue eyes, replaced with Glorfindel’s easy, winning smile.

‘Arveldir, thank you for keeping him company.’

‘You are most welcome. Triwathon, I am grateful for the tea. Will you both join us for lunch?’

‘Yes, we will,’ Glorfindel answered for them both. ‘You’ll come to us tomorrow, though.’

‘My thanks. But you are tired from your work; let me not keep you from your rest.’ Arveldir rose from his seat. ‘Until later, then.’

*

‘How was your practice?’ Triwathon asked, leading Glorfindel into the house and straight through to the bathing room.

‘It was good,’ the seneschal said, allowing his lover to help him out of his clothes. ‘Tomorrow, you should come with me, penneth, and take a turn yourself.’

‘Yes, I would like that; it’s time I began challenging myself again. Wash your back for you?’

‘I’d rather you washed my front...’

‘You always say that!’

Enjoying a Triwathon Cuddle after washing and drying and getting hot and sticky again, Glorfindel savoured the warm body pressed against him with a silent sigh.

The truth was, he hadn’t needed Celeguel’s prompting to recognise he had to let Triwathon go, but it was one more nudge to his conscience.

‘And now what is the matter, Laurefindil iphant-nin?’ Triwathon asked lightly, giving him an affectionate squeeze. ‘It seems you just get relaxed and settled and then you stiffen up again, but not necessarily in the right places...’

‘Had a little chat with Celeguel, earlier.’

‘Yes?’ Triwathon moved to pull Glorfindel onto his back so that he could look into his face. ‘I’ve been listening to the gossip from Lindir... it seems our Silvans have made quite a stir in some quarters, and Lord Elrond is concerned lest one of his sons in particular falls under the spell of our wild, mysterious ways...’

‘Celeguel hinted at something of the sort... and since she gave me to understand that she and Elladan are both just enjoying a dalliance, that must mean Elrohir and the darkly-handsome Rusdir... no, Elrond won’t like that...’

‘The entire guard will leave for home shortly,’ Triwathon said, and Glorfindel might have been imagining it, but he thought there was a hint of yearning in how Triwathon said the word ‘home’. ‘The winter storms will start rolling across Eriador in a week or so, and it would be better to be on the far side of the mountains before they get into their stride.’

‘We’ll miss your friends,’ Glorfindel said, running his hand over Triwathon’s hair. ‘And it will be odd to be without Erestor. Still, we’ll have each other. And I will not let Elrond load Erestor’s work onto me! So, you’re going to be a garrison commander to the king’s new centre of government. That’s quite a promotion...’

‘If I take it...’

‘Of course you’ll take it! My dear, my most beloved Triwathon, Elrond isn’t going to like anything that will take me away from Imladris for any length of time. In spite of Arveldir saying he’ll happily move here, Elrond’s still going to be scared Erestor will run off to the forest... so Ithilien isn’t really an option for me. I’m sorry my beautiful one, truly, if you’d set your heart on it...’

‘I think... I think we both know that I love you, that you love me, but that we have only been each other’s now; we do not have a future together. And while everyone’s future was uncertain, that was acceptable. But now we need to look ahead. I have a forest to nurture, I have a king to protect.’

‘Yes, you do. Well, I’m glad that’s settled. So we’ll wave Celeguel off and they’ll come back for you in a few weeks... it’s a shame you can’t stay closer to midsummer, when Elrond wants Erestor back...’

‘If I signed on for Ithilien, I could probably get away with it...’

‘Ah, now, no, that’s not fair, Triwathon!’ Glorfindel said with a groan. ‘Not when I’ve just steeled myself to give you up, giving me hope like that...’  
Triwathon grinned and placed a kiss at the corner of Glorfindel’s mouth.

‘Forgive me, love. I had to be sure you meant it.’

‘I do. You’re amazing, Triwathon, you’re brave and strong and yet you understand people’s feelings, so you’re never harsh to them. You’ll be wonderful, you’re exactly what the king needs in a commander. And I will be fine.’

‘Yes, you will. Perhaps not at first, not every day, but you will. You must find yourself again, be not only the Balrog-slayer and the seneschal, but the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, the healer, the mystic. Learn to enjoy being alone, and then learn to enjoy the company of others... but perhaps not too many others, your Lord of the Fountain would have a fit!’

‘True.’ Glorfindel laughed. ‘Maybe I should take up a hobby.’

‘Yes, indeed. Perhaps there are still some of Lady Arwen’s books on how to crochet lying around.’

‘And I can make dubious gifts for everyone! Well, it’s a plan!’

‘We need to make a move soon; we are expected at Erestor’s for lunch.’

‘And if I make a move on you first, we will not be very late, I hope...’

*

They were not late, and were made very welcome, but it was apparent early on that something was up; Erestor, Glorfindel noted, was wearing the same frown he had carried in the darkest days of the war, and Arveldir, although fine in himself, was particularly attentive to his spouse all through the meal. 

Much of the conversation that passed was between Triwathon and Arveldir, with Glorfindel joining in and taking note as to which topics were encouraged and which gently subverted. Always one for plain-speaking, eventually the golden-haired seneschal tired of tiptoeing through the talking.

‘Erestor, we’ve known each other long enough to know when something’s wrong. What happened? Has Elrond recanted, perhaps? Declared his previously-unsuspected love for you and is threatening swords at dawn with Arveldir?’

‘Do not jest, my friend!’ Erestor pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Yes, we know each other well enough to note when something is amiss, but also well enough to know when to respect each other’s privacy...’

‘It is, perhaps, not that bad,’ Arveldir said, catching Glorfindel’s tone with an amused glance at his spouse. ‘And anyway, I would win any battle against Elrond. Even this one.’

‘Ah, it is our good peredhel’s fault, then! I knew it must be...’

‘It is merely a matter of logistics,’ Erestor said. ‘And he does have a point in this case, although I hate to admit it...’

‘And what is this point?’ Glorfindel pressed, looking from one advisor to the other.

‘It is simple. Captain Celeguel has informed us she is taking all her guard away. Thus none will remain to escort Triwathon home in time for New Year, therefore a party must be sent from Eryn Lasgalen. Lord Elrond remarked it would be easier for our Silvan friends if they only needed to send one such party, and suggested Erestor return then, rather than for Midsummer, as previously suggested.’

‘But that would cut short your honeymoon by three months!’ Glorfindel protested. ‘It’s not fair of him!’

‘Yet he is not entirely wrong,’ Erestor said with a shake of the head. ‘It is between three and six weeks’ round trip, depending on the weather and the route, and for Thranduil to spare even four guards for two such journeys...’

‘It will be a busy time,’ Arveldir put in. ‘Especially at first. Erestor’s help, as well as his company, would be invaluable to us, and after making him wait so long...’

‘There is an alternative.’ Glorfindel sighed and under the table clasped hands with Triwathon. ‘As you say, busiest at first. So I suggest, Arveldir, that Erestor stays in the forest with you to the last possible moment and is brought back for the summer solstice as Elrond wants. And... and Triwathon rides back with Celeguel and the guard in two days or three or four...’

‘No,’ Erestor protested, ‘you cannot... Arveldir, tell him!’

‘It seems unfair, Glorfindel, to part you from your warrior... perhaps a compromise, you could escort Triwathon across the mountains and...’

‘No, Glorfindel’s plan is worth consideration,’ Triwathon said, his eyes locking on that hyperblue gaze. ‘I would be home in time to train with the other recuperating warriors, to demonstrate my return to health. I will be there to show I am committed to my Eryn Lasgalen, that I am my king’s to command. Who knows, perhaps I will be assigned to escort Erestor and Arveldir home again?’

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow; it wasn’t likely that a new commander in an important post would get a month off to go jaunting across to Rivendell, but he kept his mouth shut. He felt he’d already said more than he should.

‘But, Triwathon, Glorfindel...’ Erestor shook his head. ‘It is too big a sacrifice! I cannot ask it...!’

‘You didn’t ask,’ Glorfindel said.

‘Besides which, I think it is not a bad idea,’ Triwathon nudged Glorfindel with his shoulder. ‘I came to be with my iphant for Yule, and Yule is passing. Consider the matter coldly, Erestor; if you were deciding, whom would you separate sooner? Newlyweds who have had no proper time together since their marriage, or lovers who know they did not ever have a future, only a present? Even I know which would benefit more, who would suffer less.’

‘Triwathon, this is true generosity of fëa, to make such a sacrifice...!’ Erestor shook his head. ‘And you also, Glorfindel! I know how much Triwathon’s visit has meant to you...’

‘Well, I’ll admit I was in a bit of a slump, and he cheered me right up,’ Glorfindel admitted. ‘So, if you will excuse us, we have about six weeks of lovemaking to pack into a few days... we’d better get started...’

‘Well, from all I have heard,’ Erestor said with a sniff that signified both relief and amusement, ‘if anyone can manage that, Glorfindel, you can.’


	17. Heroes Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Silvans leave for home...

A grey early morning and the household assembled to say farewell to Erestor, Arveldir, Triwathon and the Silvan warriors. The troop gathered at the edge of the stable yard, and Elrond stepped forward with his politest smile in place. Elladan was there, Elrohir at his side looking forlorn, Lindir in the background.

‘We thank you for the honour of your visit, mellyn-nin,’ Elrond said in measured tones. ‘And wish you safe passage of the mountains. Erestor... I have something for you, before you leave...’

Elrond stepped forward and handed a leather-bound selection of documents to his advisor.

‘This came in a few days ago; I did not wish to trouble you with it, since you have been celebrating your change of circumstances... but it is important. Not urgent, I think; but it needs translating. One of the southern dialects...’

‘And you give me this now, my lord?’

‘Yes; it is a perfect opportunity to make a good translation. My scribes will work on the same document here, and you can work on the other copy while you are away – not while you have free time with your friend, of course, but I am sure there will be an hour or so here and there when Arveldir is busy and you will need something to while away the time... when you return, we can compare the two...’

‘I see.’ Erestor accepted the documents with polite contempt and stowed them in his saddle bags. ‘If I have time, I will look them over.’

‘Good. And now all that remains is for me to wish you all well. May the blessings of the Valar see you safe.’

Had Elrond made shooing gestures with his hands, he could not have made it more plain that he did not want the party to linger. Glorfindel, partly through annoyance, and partly because he really hadn’t had enough Triwathon to last him for the rest of his time in Middle Earth, pushed forward to where his friend was standing at his horse’s head ready to mount.

‘Come here, you beautiful, precious fëa!’ he said, and pulled Triwathon into a sweeping, overblown embrace, all fondling hands and closed-eyed kissing, as if he had to drink in his warrior, as if he had only this one chance to absorb him. ‘I will miss you! And I will think of you, and be thankful for our time together.’

‘You know how I feel, hir-nin, iphant-nin, Laurefindil. Drink honey beer, and think of me, and smile. And never be afraid to speak my name; wherever I might be, I would be glad to be interrupted by you... my dear friend, may I get on my horse now?’

Glorfindel grinned.

‘Are you sure you can, safely?’

‘Commander Triwathon, are we ready?’ Celeguel asked.

He was about to nod and give permission to start when Elrohir pushed forward, Elladan making an effort to hold him back but failing, and instead, following after him.

‘Stop!’ Elrohir said, reaching Rusdir’s horse and taking hold of the bridle. ‘Please, do not go...!’

‘Ro, we talked about this!’ Elladan said from behind his twin. ‘You’re just making it more difficult...’

‘Rusdir? Please?’

There was such a weight of emotion in Elrohir’s voice that Glorfindel found himself swallowing. Suddenly, parting from Triwathon didn’t seem anything like as painful as it had a few minutes ago; this was what love looked like and it was beautiful and anguished and it hurt him to see.

‘My lord Elrohir, I... forgive me, I cannot stay.’ Rusdir’s voice was a whisper and he could not look up, instead staring at where his hands were folded on the pommel of his saddle. ‘My company needs me and...’

‘I need you!’ Elrohir’s free hand covered Rusdir’s on the pommel. ‘I... Rusdir...!’

‘Elrohir!’ Elrond’s voice was sharp, commanding. ‘We have delayed our friends’ departure long enough. Your behaviour is disrespectful.’

Glorfindel shook his head and put his hand on Triwathon’s bridle.

‘Don’t give the order yet,’ he said. ‘You can’t go yet...’ He turned away to wave at one of the stable hands. ‘Ready Asfaloth and the twins’ horses immediately. We’re going to ride to the head of the valley and give our friends an honour escort. Quickly now!’

In the ensuing flurry of activity, Elladan grinned up at Celeguel.

‘Don’t fear, fair Captain! I won’t try to stop you leaving!’

‘Oh, so chivalrous, quite the son of the father!’ she laughed. ‘No, for although I like you very much, and we have spent pleasant hours together, there is nothing more for us than just a dalliance.’

Amathel smiled at Lindir, who looked back, blushing slightly until she encouraged him over.

‘Lindir, be well, and have no regrets. It was nice, but I know your hands are more used to stroking the body of a harp than a person. It is well.’

‘Forgive me, lady... you were generous and kind when I was... overwrought, and I feel I have not repaid you enough...’

‘Well, you could make up a song about me,’ she said with a laugh. ‘But do not forget to say I am wonderful with a sword.’

Lindir bowed and lifted his head to smile.

‘Be well, Celeguel.’

From behind, Elrond’s voice lifted.

‘Why do we not all go to the head of the valley and bid our friends farewell? It is a long way, Glorfindel, for you and my sons to ride back alone.’

For a moment everyone froze. Lindir recovered first.

‘But, my lord Elrond,’ he said, making his voice sound puzzled. ‘You said you would be busy with your books this morning; you even asked me if I would assist with fetching them from the library...’

‘It would be better for the books if you were to work in the library,’ Erestor said.

The horses arrived and Glorfindel and the twins leapt onto their backs. 

‘If you send out some of the knights, they can meet us at the tavern near the low path mid-afternoon and ride us back in,’ the seneschal said. ‘If you’re worried, Elrond.’

‘Commander Triwathon?’ Celeguel said.

‘Yes, we’re ready now. Lead on.’

They rode out briskly and in good order, eager to escape from Elrond’s observation. After half a mile or so, they were clearly out of sight of the Last Homely House, and Celeguel raised her hand to signal a halt.

‘I have no objection,’ she said, ‘to riding on more slowly now, and for us to mingle the order of our going as pleases us. But Commander Triwathon, what are your wishes?’

‘I’d like to ride beside my friend, and I am sure others would like to spend time with their own friends also,’ he said, although in truth he’d already been next to Glorfindel on the trail. ‘And perhaps we could stop before we reach the head of the valley, if there is somewhere we could make slightly less formal farewells?’

‘I know the perfect place,’ Elladan said. ‘It’s a way off yet, though. Captain Celeguel, may I have the honour of a place at your side?’

‘You may indeed, Master Elladan, as long as you keep your hands on your reins.’

Glorfindel edged Asfaloth closer to Triwathon’s horse.

‘You know, you’ve a long ride ahead. And your horse, although a beautiful creature, has not the stamina or strength – or the closeness to home – that Asfaloth does. You could simply ride before me, and rest your own mount for later...’

Triwathon laughed.

‘Ah, hir-nin, that is an excellent idea, but sets a very bad example...’ Instead, he reached out his hand towards Glorfindel. ‘Will that do?’

Ahead, Elrohir nudged his horse so close to Rusdir’s that the riders’ legs were touching. Soon hands were entwined, too.

‘They are in love,’ Triwathon said softly. ‘And there is no impediment, except what they would put in the way themselves. I know Rusdir, a quiet, modest soul, but very brave and honourable; I will speak with him privately when we are on our way, assure him he does not look too high.’

‘Elrond might not like it, but it’s time he realised his sons have their own lives to lead. He has a good heart, Elrohir does.

Suddenly Rusdir bent his head over his saddle, his shoulders convulsing and Elrohir reached across to him, both their horses stopping. The rest rode around them on the trail, trying not to intrude, trying to give them privacy, for Rusdir was sobbing and Elrohir trying to console him, emotion overwhelming him, in turn.

Around a turn of the path a little way on, Celeguel called a halt.

‘We will give them a little time to recover and catch up. Then one should go back and help.’

‘I will, and gladly,’ Triwathon said.

‘We’ll both go, if we’re needed,’ Glorfindel added. ‘Between us, we should manage.’

But before more than a few minutes had passed, the two reappeared. Both were mounted now on Elrohir’s horse, Rusdir seated behind and leading his steed, Elrohir looking defiantly at his brother and sitting tall and proud.

Glorfindel grinned at Triwathon.

‘Now will you come over here?’

‘Since it would please you, yes. But you will sit in front, so that I know exactly where your hands are.’

They made slow progress, as might be expected with both Elrohir and Glorfindel wanting to tarry, and Celeguel was clearly growing impatient when, an hour later, they had progressed not much further than three miles. Triwathon noted her anxious glances at the sky and the trail ahead.

‘Laurefindil, we have a long way to go and should press on; I am enjoying your company, but having already spent more time with you than I had hoped this day, we must think of the welfare of the company, whatever our own wishes.’

Glorfindel leaned back against Triwathon for a moment, but sighed.

‘You’re probably right. Were you going to stop for lunch?’

‘Probably. But not until lunch time.’

‘Very well. Asfaloth can bear us both, Ro’s horse has strength to spare...’ The seneschal looked over his shoulder. ‘Elrohir – we have to pick up the pace a little.’

Elrohir’s shoulders tensed, as if he was expecting a reprimand. But with a sigh, he nodded and spoke softly to his horse and he pushed forward through the troop and led them off at a canter down the trail.

The others followed, but the faster pace soon slowed to a trot as the trail grew less easy. Triwathon leaned in and inhaled Glorfindel’s golden hair, storing up the memory, wrapping his arms around the seneschal’s waist and trying to allow himself to disentangle the ties of love that held them together far more closely than his arms ever could. The love they had shared had been a comfort unlooked for, salvation and treasure, a blessing and source of joy, and if now it was time to release each other, well, they were better for having loved one another, they would be forever grateful for tenderness shared. 

But Glorfindel was stronger now, he sat more proudly, laughed more easily, his emotions more stable and his sense of self restored. And Triwathon? His side ached, still, at times, but his heart no longer. It would not be easy to move on, but it was needful. Glorfindel’s future lay across the Sundering Seas, where his beloved Lord of the Fountains waited for him. Triwathon’s fëa-mate lay somewhere ahead, and it was time to head bravely towards the future, and not linger in the past.

Finally they reached the place Elrohir had been looking for, and he raised a hand to slow and stop the troop. Just off the track was a turn in the valley, a sheltered, tree-lined glade.

‘Very well,’ Celeguel called. ‘Dismount! See to the horses. We eat and rest for an hour and then we press on.’

Glorfindel didn’t want Triwathon out of reach, he sat close, knee pressing against his dear friend’s thigh, taking his hand whenever he could.

‘Laurefindil...’

‘I know, I know!’ Glorfindel sighed. ‘It is time to let go, to let you go, to remember I have Ecthelion waiting and you... you have your garrison and your yet-to-meet-lover... but... I just want to fill myself up with you!’

‘You will be fine.’ 

‘Yes. And you will be amazing, Triwathon.’

Glorfindel dropped his head against his lover’s and inhaled his hair. He was just getting comfortable, relaxing and feeling a little more resigned when Elrohir’s voice, raised and abrupt, startled him.

‘No! Elladan, I know you mean to help, but you are not! Leave me be! Leave us be!’

‘I do not understand you, Elrohir! You have changed!’

‘And you have not? Just... ‘

Glorfindel got to his feet.

‘I’ll speak to Elladan.’

Triwathon followed, but as Glorfindel reached out a kind hand to lead Elladan away with calm words and a determined grip, he saw Elrohir glaring at him from where he sat beside Rusdir, putting Triwathon in mind of an eagle protecting its eyrie.

‘I have just come to see how Rusdir is, Elrohir; he has been a good friend to me in my recovery.’

Elrohir nodded, wary, and Triwathon sat at Rusdir’s other side. He smiled reassuringly at the warrior, content for the moment just to offer silent support.  
Arveldir and Erestor came up, and Elrohir glared at his father’s advisor as if expecting a battle.

‘This is what will happen, Erestor. I am going to ride back to Eryn Lasgalen with my friend... with Rusdir, whom I love. Today. And you cannot stop me.’  
‘I would not wish to try; I know what it is, to be apart from one’s beloved.’

Rusdir reached out and took Elrohir’s hand, the quietness of the gesture making Triwathon’s heart ache.

‘Elrohir, I want you with me,’ he said, ‘of course I do, now I have found you and know we have lived all these shared years in Middle Earth without meeting; we must not waste the time we have left. And yet... what will happen, do you think?’

‘We will ride across the mountains, over the plains, into your forests. We will be together.’

‘Yes, we will. Will we have our families rejoicing, such family as we have left? Will we bring joy to our kin?’

‘Well... my father is old fashioned in the wrong ways, he is bigoted and closed-minded, he is...’

‘He is your father.’ Rusdir’s words were stilted and slow. ‘I... my sister is widowed, she has elflings to raise, two boys, not ten years apart... I promised I would help her. And I swore to my king, I would serve Eryn Lasgalen; I cannot stay...’

‘Rus, no, you don’t have to, I know you can’t. All my life, it feels, it’s been spent serving Imladris, Adar wants this doing, Adar needs that... and now... now, it’s my turn to do what I want, what I need to do...’

‘There has been so much loss for you here,’ Rusdir said abruptly, ignoring everyone except Elrohir and pulling close against him. ‘You lost your mother to the west, you are losing your sister to a mortal life... all the many Rivendell elves who have sailed, the empty houses in the valley, the empty rooms in the Last Homely House... if you leave, now, like this, it will be another loss. How, how will your father bear it? What will your brother do?’

‘What about... about us?’ Elrohir whispered, shivering against the Silvan’s shoulder. ‘What will we do?’

‘We will be fine. The love between us is stronger than spider silk, and more binding. You see our lords Arveldir and Erestor? It was like this for them, and how long did they endure? Their patience won out, and...’

‘I cannot wait two centuries for you!’

‘You will not have to,’ Erestor crouched at Elrohir’s side. ‘Your father is sailing soon; he has said so to me; in fact, he argued Arveldir and I should defer our union until after he goes, saying it will only be a year, or two, or three. I think it is that he cannot bear to stay and see your sister happy in her mortality and to fully know what it means for her, when she does not... Elrohir, if you ride with us now, your father will forever resent your Silvan lover, it will be harder for him to grow accustomed. He may even defer his sailing. But should you stay, and be brave, and make it known that you have found your forever love, in time, Elrond will learn not to shudder so much at the thought, and you will be able to invite Rusdir to visit, and you will be able to visit him... it will be some while yet before Arveldir and I have a settled home together, and meanwhile one of us will be forever riding out to visit the other... you can be my escort, and Rusdir can be Arveldir’s, and so you and he will not be separated for long; we are elves; we are patient.’

‘I am not quite an elf; I have human blood and yes, I can be patient, but I cannot be that patient...’

‘My dear young friend, you can. And you will not be alone; you will have your brother to support you, and Glorfindel. And when I return, as Elrond wishes, before Midsummer, Arveldir will ride with me too, and we will ask for Rusdir to be our escort. True, he will likely have to ride back again with Arveldir, but it is not so long to wait, really.’

‘I... I suppose it is not...’ 

‘Would it comfort you, if we were sworn to each other?’ Rusdir asked abruptly, as if he was lacking courage to speak unless he hastened his words out. ‘I would have asked permission of your father, asked for the countenance of my king first, but that matters not. I understand how it is for Noldor elves, that you are less comfortable being free than we Silvans are...’

Elrohir stared at him, anguished hope and love making him mute, but he nodded and Rusdir, not quite seeing yet, hurried on.  
‘...except I know I am not highly-born, I am not worthy, and so...’

‘To borrow one of Lord Elrond’s favourite expressions, nonsense!’ Erestor interrupted. ‘Rusdir is a brave and loyal warrior, or he would not have been chosen to escort Commander Triwathon. And as for birth, I am sure there is nothing for a half-bred peredhel to protest about in a union between his son and a Silvan, one of the oldest uninterrupted elven kindred in Middle-Earth!’

Elrohir stared, but seeing the amused twist to Erestor’s mouth, almost managed to laugh.

‘What did you call my father?’

Erestor shrugged.

‘You know it matters not; he has long been my lord with all his qualities and all his faults. At times, the human heritage makes him more understanding, at others, less so. But if matters of place and station and breeding are going to weigh with your father, he will not have a leg to stand on. Besides, Elrond has long held up Imladris as a model of equality and fairness... he had better not start any silliness about birth and nobility now, or else I will have plenty to say to him on the subject!’

‘Rusdir is a brave and trusted friend,’ Triwathon said. ‘He has been honoured by our king and, if he needed any to speak out in support of him, our king and our prince would be vocal in their support.’

‘I never think of myself as noble, or highborn,’ Elrohir said. ‘I think of myself as a warrior, and a union with a warrior so brave is nobility enough for me.’

‘Would you, then?’ Rusdir asked. ‘Would you promise yourself to me, as I would to you? I know it may seem that I ask only to ease the pain of our parting, but it is what I have wanted from the first and only fear that your father would not see the rightness prevented me...’

Elrohir turned in and grabbed Rusdir’s shoulders, pulling him tightly into his arms and burying his face in the Silvan’s neck. Elladan, pulling free of Glorfindel’s apparently-friendly escort, came across shaking his head, his face frowning.

Erestor rose to his feet and planted himself firmly between the two brothers.

‘What is the matter, Elladan?’ he asked. ‘Would you seek to prevent your brother’s happiness?’

‘I... but... of course not! But... Erestor, I am not trying to cause any hurt, but what if he is mistaken? What if this is not really love?’

‘What if it is simply a passing fancy, you mean?’ Erestor took a slow breath in, scrutinising the elder son of Elrond as he did so. ‘Walk with me a moment or two, would you? I know you are twins, you do all things alike, you laugh at the same things and are angered by similar situations. And you found Captain Celeguel most fair, and you had a pleasant few days, but she has not made you ache from longing not to part with her.’

‘So you see, I fear Elrohir doesn’t really know what’s happening; he has less experience than I do...’

‘Perhaps because his preferences are other than your own and so his potential for encounters far more limited than your own.’

‘Yes, but...’

‘But in his preferences – which are those of his fëa, not his will – he is different from you. In your natures, you are other. You do not see, for you are so close to each other... he is quieter, more scholarly. You are always first on the training ground. He likes cheese, you prefer meat. Is it so far a stretch of imagination to accept that he has found his forever-love, and you have yet to meet your own?’

‘But I am the oldest; I have always led the way...’

‘Indeed. And what is it, do you think, that troubles you now? That you are not leading the way in this? Or that Elrohir is following another’s lead?’

‘But that’s... I... Ada is going to be furious!’

‘Quite likely so. And I cannot be here to smooth things over or annoy him on other topics and so divert him. If you fear your brother no longer will need you, then do not. He will need your support, your help in convincing Elrond that this is not a mistake.’

‘Are you sure it isn’t?’

Erestor nodded, his eyes smiling. ‘You see, I know what it is to love a wild Silvan elf. I’ve seen that look in a Silvan’s eyes, I know the truth of it. Such love, given freely and without the constraints imposed on Noldor traditions, is of far greater value than you can imagine, Elladan. I know it is difficult for you; you are bound to feel at a loss and excluded. But Elrohir loves you no less. Will you help him? For he will need your help, soon.’

‘Of course I will. Adar needs his ideas shaking up a bit, anyway.’

Erestor nodded.

‘And do not forget, you have Glorfindel as an ally, too. And Lindir, I am sure, will support your brother too, should you need it. Look, it seems as if something is happening. Shall we join them?’

Elladan nodded.

‘I don’t want to be at odds with you, Elrohir,’ he said as he approached. ‘I... I am not sure I really understand, but... do I have to? If you’ll be happy...’

‘I will be forever unhappy without Rusdir,’ his twin replied. ‘But while you have been talking, we have a new plan. Rusdir and I will part, for a little while, he to his duties and me to mine. But with agreement and understanding between us. Rusdir, in the sight of all the Valar and under the watchfulness of Eru Ilúvatar, I promise myself to you in the hope of a future together...’

Rusdir blinked and shook his head, as if he hadn’t been expecting such an announcement quite so soon.

‘Now?’ he said.

‘Yes, now,’ Triwathon said.

‘I don’t have the words... but let the Valar be my witness, and Eru Ilúvatar who has brought us together see, that I want no other but you and promise myself to you forever, no matter what the future brings, in love and in hope.’

‘I thought those were quite fine words myself,’ Glorfindel said, giving Triwathon a little nudge. ‘And they seem to have the kissing part down to a fine art.’

‘Well, you are expert, I am sure we can all rely on your judgement,’ Triwathon said with a smile.

‘Except they will need to breathe... there. Now, you’ve said the words, you two, time to exchange betrothal gifts.’

‘Gifts?’ Elrohir said. ‘I have not had time to think of gifts...’

‘Swap hair clasps. Better, swap shirts,’ Glorfindel said. ‘That way, when each of you are alone, later, you can remember that the linen against your skin was last against your beloved’s. You’ll be surprised at the comfort you can find in a shirt...’ 

‘Or a towel,’ Triwathon put in. ‘Captain Celeguel, if you will, I think we should ride on. Elrohir knows the track to the inn, I am sure, and once he and Rusdir have had time to exchange their tokens, they can catch us up.’

‘A good idea, Commander; we have already delayed our riding significantly and will have to make up the time later. To horse, everyone! We ride for the inn at the head of the valley!’

*

There was time for a last drink together at the inn. Although all sat together outside, Glorfindel contrived to find seats apart from everyone else for himself and Triwathon. They had a fair view back down the track for a good couple of miles as it wound with only intermittent interruption along one of the tributaries of the Bruinen up to the inn, and occasionally now they caught glimpses of Rusdir and Elrohir riding, if not hastily, at least steadily towards them.

‘What will Elrond say, do you think?’ Triwathon asked.

‘He will bluster, he will rage, he will behave in a most unbecoming fashion, and then he will remember himself. He’ll remember that his sons are grown up now, and only defer to him out of courtesy. He’ll realise that it’s none of his business, and he’ll hate it; if past experiences are anything to go by, he’ll find some foolish errand to send Elrohir away on – probably with Elladan in tow, too. In which case, I may find myself drafted in as well.’

‘In a way, I hope he does. You will need something to do to keep your spirits up, Laurefindil, something that isn’t riding the bounds and letting Elrond use you as a weapon... something, or someone...’

‘I don’t want a someone, Triwathon, I only want you.’ Glorfindel lowered his voice, needing to say it again. ‘Love you, Honey-beer.’

‘Love you, Iphant-nin, hir-nin, Laurefindel. I need to be sure you will be well once I go,’ Triwathon said. ‘You must take a little time alone, to show yourself you are well, and then take a little time with another, to show yourself you deserve to be loved...’

‘No.’ Glorfindel shook his head. ‘You can’t tell me you love me in one breath and tell me to find someone else in the next!’

‘It’s because I love you that I’m suggesting it. Not, if you’re lonely before we meet again, Glorfindel, not this time, but...’

‘But when you go, I won’t see you again,’ Glorfindel whispered as the realisation finally inserted itself into his heart. ‘Oh, I could ride out to Eryn Lasgalen where I might see Commander Triwathon, my old friend from before the War of the Ring... but my Triwathon of the beautiful fëa, of the gentle fingers? Where will he be?’

‘He will probably be looking for his Laurefindil with the too-blue eyes...’ Triwathon sighed and turned to lean his forehead against Glorfindel’s. ‘I love you, and I owe you so much... you saved me from a life of insecurity and showed me I did not need to be shy. And you saved my fëa by showing me you thought I was worth saving...’

‘You started it, with the saving of me. And you kept on doing it. But now you have a kingdom to save... well, to protect and preserve. And I have a valley and lord with an outdated outlook and a host of silly prejudices to overcome.’

Elrohir and Rusdir rode up to cheers and raised tankards from the company. If Elrohir looked a little sheepish, Rusdir looked triumphant, and there was a much happier air about the pair of them. 

Presently more drinks were called for, a stirrup-cup, and the Silvans mounted up once more.

Ai, for just one more kiss, one more hour... 

But Triwathon’s eyes were glittering as he leaned down from the saddle to press his lips against Glorfindel’s one last time, and Glorfindel could barely speak as he looked up.

‘Be well Laurefindil, hir-nin, iphant-nin, Glorfindel of Gondolin.’

‘Triwathon of the beautiful fëa... be well...’

‘Will you sail soon, Laurefindil, do you think?’

‘No! Not with Elrond threatening to go in a few years, I don’t want to be following too close on his heels... Oh, I expect I will go... one day... but there’s the lads to think about; they’ll need guiding while they find their way without Elrond around to stifle them. And Lindir and Melpomaen... I know Arveldir will look after Erestor, or Erestor Arveldir... as you said, I’ll need to learn to be me, on my own, and like it, and then, who knows?’

It all came out in a rush, as if now he’d got over not being able to speak, he couldn’t shut up.

‘But I will look after myself, I promise,’ he went on more evenly. ‘Just... even if you find your forever love, keep sending the towels, right? I’ll know you’re all right, then.’

‘As long as you want me to.’

‘I will always want you to.’

‘Agreed then, my Laurefindil.’ Triwathon nodded and tried to smile as Glorfindel went to stand with Elladan and Elrohir.

Erestor turned his horse to face the Imladris contingent.

‘I will send a hawk on our arrival so you will not worry,’ he said. ‘And I will see you all soon... be well, all of you.’

They called farewell and stood watching as the Silvans rode off, taking Erestor, and part of Elrohir and Glorfindel’s hearts with them.

Elrohir burst into tears, and Glorfindel was secretly glad of it, because it made him strong enough not to. He waited while Elladan comforted and consoled his brother, went to settle the bill at the inn, and then came back out to spring up onto Asfaloth’s back.

‘Come on, Elrohir. Let’s go and break the happy news to your Ada, shall we?’

‘Not feeling so happy just now, Fin...’

‘Neither am I, truth to tell. But by the time we ride through the gates, we will be singing, we’ll be thinking of the happy times we’ve had, and you’ll be looking ahead to when your betrothed comes back...’

‘And you, Glorfindel? What is there for you to look forward to?’

‘Me? I’m looking forward to the expression on Elrond’s face when he realises you’re marrying a Silvan ellon and there’s not a thing he can do about it.’ The former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin grinned in an excellent imitation of good cheer. ‘Now, come on; what’s that song our Silvans were always singing...? No not that one, Elladan, the clean one...’

And they set off down the valley, riding into the courtyard of Rivendell singing a rousing chorus of ‘Heroes Coming Home’, and nobody would have guessed, from looking at them, that something beautiful had ended today, and something wonderful had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of 'Glorfindel's Rivendell Revelries', but the series will continue later in the year.


End file.
